Fear is deadly - The 47th Hunger Games
by TheRainIsOnFire
Summary: "This year, I want to push the tributes to their physical and mental limits; it won't just be a battle of the physically fittest, but mentally, too." Snow wants Zipporah Elphinstone dead, but he's giving her one last chance to make up for last year, and Zipporah is determined not to make the same mistake twice. Closed SYOT.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello!**

**I know this is short, but I hope you like it, and the form will be on my profile. I don't know if I'll keep it in 3rd person, I might switch for the reaping. Tell me what you think.**

** First, we meet this year's head gamemaker: Zipporah Elphinstone. **

Zipporah Elphinstone nervously shuffled her papers. She was sat in her large, sleek chair in her office, overlooking the Capitol below her. She let out a slow breath, wringing her sweaty palms out on her blue dress, her fingers running over the lace and diamond embellishments.

To say she was nervous was an understatement; it was only her second year as head game maker and already President Snow wanted her dead. She had her first warning last year. If she messed up again: off with her head.

"The right tribute will win this year. I promise." The words rung through her head like a bell and Zipporah shivered at the memory of Snow's breath, which was beginning to smell awfully like blood, and left her office.

Her heels clicked loudly as she walked down the corridor, the silent avoxes bowed respectfully as she passed, but it's no secret they hated her and Snow with a burning passion.

She arrived at the game maker's room, but hesitated a moment outside the door, as she plucked up the courage to go inside. Eventually, she swung the doors open, and plastered on her practiced smile as she walked in. The other game makers instantly stood, and she dismissed them to sit back down, then she took her place at the head of the room and pressed some buttons. Her arena appeared on screen, and she managed a weak smile.

"Good. It's finished." Then she muttered under her breath, "Let's just hope it lives up to Snow's standards." She pressed a few final buttons, and the arena vanished again.

"Back to work," Zipporah said, as she quickly left the room again, and when the door closed her smile dropped again. She smoothed her head of short, spiky blue hair. She had an interview to go to.

She paced the corridors for what felt like hours until she was summoned. She wore her fake smile again and stepped up onto the stage, the crowds roaring excitably.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host, Runyon Saltcoats, cried, "This year's head game maker: Zipporah Elphinstone!"

The crowd stamped their feet and waved their hands like excited children, and Zipporah waved to the crowds. She remembered her first year up here, she had been excited, but that was before the threats, the watching eyes, the nightmares.

Runyon took her hand when she reached the two seats that had been set out, and he raised it above the crowds. He must have noticed how clammy her hands were, but he was kind enough not to wipe his own hands onto his suit jacket.

"Zipporah, you look stunning!" Runyon said as she sat, and she rested her hands on her dress lovingly as she held her grin.

"Thank you, Runyon. This little number was designed by Contire Clembern himself!"

The crowd 'ooh'd in delight. Contire Clembern was a victor from 8 who happened to be a very good fashion designer. He was one of District 8's more loved Victors.

"It's quite something, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is," Runyon exclaimed, "but onto business. This is your second year as head game maker. Do you think this year could live up to the expectations from last year? Your arena was quite something."

Zipporah smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, and she looked straight into the camera as she answered.

"Oh, Runyon, I think it's going to be the best games yet."

**I told you it was short, but hopefully the chapters will get longer from here and I have more to cover. I suppose this is just a little snippet of my writing style? **

**Lots of love,**

**TheRainIsOnFire :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, my lovelies! It's half term in the UK, so I get a week off of school, and you know what that means? A week to write! Much excitement.**

**Now, I'm just going to come out and say this: I am a sucker for drama in my stories, so naturally this gets dramatic. You have been warned.**

**Tribute form is on my profile; I still need lots of tributes, so go crazy!**

**Enjoy and feel free to leave a review, constructive criticism is always accepted.**

**Some time earlier…**

"So when are we leaving, again?"

There's a slight sigh on the other end of the line, "Anouk, I've already told you a good ten times: we're leaving in a week's time."

"Right, and you'll have…."

I trail off as something catches my eye, and I stare at it for a moment as I squint my eyes. There's something small and slightly reflective in the dark wood of my fireplace. Probably just some polish caught in the light.

I stare at it a little longer.

"I'll have the what, Anouk?" Nixon asks, his tone impatient, and my eyebrows furrow as I answer.

"The dresses, that's what I meant, the dresses!" I try and make my tone bright; I don't know why, but something feels off.

"Yes, Anouk, I'll have the dresses for you. You just have to show up, smile and read the cards."

I stare at the reflective thing even harder.

And then it clicks.

"I've got to go, Nixon, I'll see you in a week, ok?" I say, my voice obviously tense.

"Yeah, sure. Anouk, are you feeling ok? You sound a bit off."

"I'm fine. Never felt better. Bye."

How could it have taken me so long to realise? I've been living in the Victors Village for months now and I _still_ hadn't realised until now?

Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid._

_This entire house is rigged._

_Of course it's rigged _my brain snaps as my body begins to tremble in fear,_ they're probably waiting for one wrong move so they can take away what little you have left._

Instantly, my head begins filling with all the things Snow could've overheard, phone calls, rants, my sleep talking. What _couldn't_ he have heard?

I rush to the camera and begin scrabbling at it with my stubby nails, trying to pry it from its hiding place. The camera's tiny, just bigger than a penny and perfectly camouflaged in the almost black wood, and I can't pick it out, so I rush to the kitchen and grab a knife.

I stalk back to the mantelpiece, sweat already making the knife's handle slippery in my hand, so I wipe my palm on my trousers.

_This'll teach him for spying on me._

I drive the knife into the camera, and it _cracks_ as I wiggle the blade around-

_The boy from 4 emerges through the thick vines, his skin sunburnt and peeling, and he stares me down. He appears to be bristling with anger._

_"__6, we meet again," Victor hisses, his blood-coated sword glinting slightly, and he slowly turns it in his hand as his sharp blue eyes glare at me._

_"__Long time no see," I remark, my mosquito-bitten skin prickling slightly with fear, but I can't back down now; I have to make him angry. Angry people become stupid, and that's the only chance I've got right now._

_"__Your balls still sore?" I tease, my own puny hunting knife tightly clamped in my hand-_

Stop it. I can't let this happen now; there must be more cameras somewhere. I have to find them.

Focus on that, Anouk. Focus.

_"__You bitch," he spits, and he takes a step forwards, his sword pointed towards me. I raise my own knife._

_"__That little dagger isn't going to save you, 6, I'm going to make this very slow and painful; I'll put on a nice show for the Capitol," A slow grin spreads across his face, and he begins readying himself to launch at me, "The death of the Capitol's most hated victors daughter? Oh yes, I'm sure they'll love that."_

_For a moment, we're frozen, just staring each other down. The tension is so thick you could cut it with my tiny knife._

_"__Ladies first," I say, and Victor's expression becomes murderous._

_He lunges._

It takes several moments of heavy blinking and ragged breaths to fully recover. At some point during my episode I must have fallen to the floor, because I'm lying on my side; knees up to my chest.

I glare at the knife, which has fallen close to my shoe, and I kick it away. It spins on its side as it careens towards the wall, and the tip lodges itself in the wallpaper.

I heave myself onto my hands and knees, and slowly crawl towards it. The sight of it makes me sick to my core. I have to get rid of it.

I clamp my eyes shut as I grab the knife handle through my shirtsleeve, as if not touching it directly will serve as any protection, and I throw it.

There's a loud _smash_, and I crack on of my eyes open. The knife has left a large, splintering hole in my window, and the early winter snow is already beginning to fall through the gap.

_Let it stay there._

I look down at my feet, and my eye catches the spot where the knife pulled a sliver of wallpaper away.

I grab it and give a sharp tug upwards, ripping away a long piece of floral paper.

_I've always hated that wallpaper. _

_No, scratch that, I hate this entire house, with its cameras and over the top décor. I despise it._

I grab at another peeling piece of wallpaper.

* * *

**The next day**

The rapping at the door wakes me suddenly from my sleep. I sit up, rolling my shoulders and rubbing my cricked neck, and I look around. I must've fallen asleep on the floor after my meltdown, and I stare at bare floorboards, stripped walls and torn upholstery for a moment, letting the events of yesterday sink in.

There's another sharp knock at the door, and my blood runs cold.

It's Snow, it must be him, he saw I noticed the cameras and now he's come for me.

There's a large piece of splintered wood that came up when I tore the carpets out, and I hesitantly take it. I'll skewer the President with it; I don't care what happens to me then, because Snow will be dead.

I won't be afraid. I will not break down. It will all be over soon.

_Thank God._

I walk down the hallway, my heartbeat thudding in my ears and the familiar rush of adrenaline putting one foot in front of the other.

I won't be afraid.

There's a third round of knocking as I place my hand on the doorknob, and I take one last breath before I open the door.

The sharp piece of wood comes up above my head, ready to smash through the President's head.

The door swings open.

There's a terrified yell, and the person at the door jumps backwards in horror, as the splintered wood freezes mid-swing.

Because it's not President Snow.

It's Whit, who is now trembling and gasping on the floor with his knees up to his chest, my mentor.

The wood falls out of my hand.

"Whit, oh my God, I'm so sorry," I say, rushing out into the settling snow, and I crouch down beside him.

"Whit?" I quietly ask, my hand hovering at his back. There's no response, just terrified gasping and shaking.

"Whit, I'm so sorry, can you hear me? Whit?" I place my hand on his back, but he lets out a terrified shriek, and I take my hand away.

"Whit, I'm not going to hurt you, it's me, Whit, and I'd never hurt you."

It takes several minutes for Whit to stop shaking, and when he does he looks at me, his eyes wide and shiny with tears.

"Whit, it's passed, it's ok, see? You're safe," I tell him, but he's shaking his head at me, and his lip has started trembling.

"N-N-No, Ann, Th-They t-t-took..." He trails off, looking back at his house on the other side of the snowy road, and lets out a bone-chilling scream.

"HE'S TAKEN THEM, ANOUK, HE'S TAKEN THEM FROM ME!"

"Whit, what happened?" I demand, my voice rising with panic, because I already know.

And it's all my fault.

"He took Trudy, Ann, and my little Amabel. They're gone, Ann, gone, gone _GONE!" _He yells, and then he really begins to cry. It breaks my heart and sets the fragments into stone.

I thought I hated the President before, but now hatred has been replaced by stone cold fury.

I will tear him limb from limb.

Just you watch.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I saw in the reviews (thank you for those, by the way) that some of you thought that the Capitol took Anouks little 'freak out' with the cameras a little too seriously, so I decided to clear that up. Basically, Anouk and the Capitol have never had the _best_ relationship, and I promise flashbacks won't be used incredibly frequently, they were just needed in the prologues. Also, still debating how I'm going to write the reapings. :/**

**Still accepting tributes! **

**P.S. Patrick Stump will be the death of me, I swear.**

**Prologue 3**

Snow sits back in his chair as the screen goes black, and I suck in a breath as his eyebrows draw together.

He's silent for a moment, and I pick at my sun yellow dress, picking a piece of glitter off. Snow finally breaks the silence.

"She's found the cameras then," he mutters, and he picks up his china cup, bringing it to his lips and grimacing. He quickly wipes his mouth and puts his napkin back in his pocket.

"So she has," is all I say, sipping my own tea, which has been loaded with sugar. No other way to have it, in my opinion.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, as my palms begin to sweat, which always happens when I'm nervous, and Snow turns to face me.

"This girl seems determined to wither my patience as much as possible; she has made a fool of both of us too often," he casts me a hard look, and I fail to meet his eyes as the memory hits me like a slap in the face.

_Why can't this girl just _die? _I've thrown everything I've got at her and she's still alive. This isn't how it's meant to happen, goddamn it! _

_Anouk clambers up the steep hill, my mutts at her heels, snapping and frothing slightly at the mouth; one bites at her leg, but she kicks its snout and it tumbles back down the hill._

_I grit my teeth in frustration._

_She's nearing the top of the hill, and she kicks away another mutt as she approaches the final couple meters, sweat drenching her shirt to her back. I press some buttons, and another mutt rises from the sand, ugly and nightmarish, shaking itself off before charging after Anouk, who's now at the top of the hill. She turns just as a mutt launches at her, and it takes a bite at her neck as they go crashing to the ground, screaming and growling._

_"__Get us in closer," I demand, my hands balling into fists on my desk in anticipation; Anouk is grappling with the mutt, screaming with effort through gritted teeth, and I can feel my heart thudding in my chest. My palms are clammy._

_She braces against it for a solid minute before she throws the mutt off, and it takes several moments composing itself. It growls as saliva drools from its mouth and onto the cracking earth, its red eyes beady and its skin blistering. It's so terrifying it could give anyone nightmares for the rest of their life, but that's the point._

_Anouk looks around, and grabs a large, jagged rock._

_No. She's not about to do-_

_She runs at my mutt, and it barely gets time to roar at her before she brings the rock down on its skull._

_Crack._

_My mutt howls once, then slumps on its side on the dry earth, and then the only sound is Anouks heavy breathing._

_She drops the rock, and begins to laugh. It's the laugh of a crazy person._

_"__Is that all you've got?" She screams, her eyes squinting against the sun as she looks up at the sky, "Is that it? That was pathetic! Come on; hit me, I don't care anymore! I don't want to live, let someone else go home!" She spins, looking to see if anything else comes._

_But nothing will, because I let out a yell of frustration and walk out of the game makers room, letting the door swing behind me._

"She thinks she is smarter than us," Snow continues, and I blink the memory away and look at him, "she thinks she has control, but we're going to show her we have more power." He turns his piercing stare away from me and to the crackling screen.

"We need to remind her we're still in charge," I murmur, also turning my gaze to the screen, "What means a lot to her? You're the one who's been monitoring her, correct?" I ask, and Snow nods once, then turns his gaze to me again. His cold eyes make me shiver slightly.

"Her father?" I ask, but Snow shakes his head this time.

"No, that won't break her; she never got on with him, they despise each other," Snow explains, the bony index finger of his right hand circling the rim of his china cup.

"Her friend's already dead, remember, we took her straight after the games," I cross the name off my list, Ophelia, I think.

We sit in silence again, but we both know the answer, and our eyes meet for a moment before I raise an eyebrow.

"Her mentor?"

"Not him," Snow says, and I frown slightly, "people like him too much. We need to cause distrust between the two and make her feel guilty; show Anouk that it's not just her affected by her actions."

I nod, I think I understand what he's getting at now.

"He has a wife and daughter, doesn't he?" I ask, and Snow smiles slowly as he nods, it's all teeth and no humour and it sets off a spider crawl shiver down my spine.

"Indeed, Miss Elphinstone, he does," he looks at me expectantly, and I set my tea down, chewing my lip slightly.

"Are you saying we should…" Snow raises his eyebrows at me; so I clear my throat and continue, "take Whits family?"

Snow grins again, and the shiver gets worse.

"Yes, Miss Elphinstone, that is exactly what I'm saying."


	4. Final Notice!

**Final notice!**

***Whispers*** **Guess what?**

**I GOT ALL MY TRIBUTES! *piñata is lowered* *music starts playing***

**Woooooooooooooah. Thank you for your brilliant tributes, guys, I'm honestly so excited to start, you don't even know. There may be a slight break where I plan everything before the reapings begin, but I hope to have everything ready and starting soon, so bear with me. :)**

**I don't know how frequent chapters will be; I write on the family computer so the only time I get a few solid hours to write without disturbance is after school when my familam aren't home yet, and I've got things after school on a couple of days so… But I promise I'll try to be as frequent as I can. ^_^**

**Yeah, that's pretty much all I've got to say… no sponsoring system. Sorry. However if a tribute is popular, and if it fits with the plot, they may receive sponsors? *over-dramatic shrug***

**Thank you again for all your tributes, and now I'm off to go plan how I'm going to kill your babies! **

**TTFN Ta Ta For Now!**

**-TheRainIsOnFire.**


	5. Alistair: A victor, a leader

**Alistair**

Several bruises are already forming on my arms- along with the rest of me- from where Elouise hit me with her sword. The weapons aren't _real_, per say, but they still hurt like hell when they hit you.

Elouise, however, is barely scathed. She isn't completely uninjured, but she isn't walking away from the fight with a pulled leg and three black fingernails, not to mention a ton of bruises.

I can't ever remember winning a fight against her.

I'm just hoping that that's a good thing.

Elouise throws her sword dramatically to the ground, finally finished beating the daylights out of me, and helps me off the ground, smirking as I groan in pain.

"You ok, marshmallow?" she teases as she slaps me on the back, and I wince as my back gives a dull throb.

"Ow, Elouise, and please don't call me-"

"Ah, I'm only teasing you, my little marshmallow, and you know you love the name really."

I don't, I quite despise it, actually, but I say nothing.

"We better get going, mummy dearest wants you spick and span for the reaping, doesn't she, marshmallow?"

My cheeks flame in embarrassment, and I give her shoulder a slight push as we walk out of the gym, Elouise laughing as she wraps an arm around me. My heart starts thudding as her arm comes around my waist.

The walk home is filled with more teasing and jokes from Elouise, and mumbles from me. I never know quite what to say around her, but sometimes it's nice just to let her talk; she always has something to say.

Elouise lazily kicks the gravel of my path as we approach my house, and I pray mother doesn't see; she hates people kicking up her path. She doesn't particularly love Elouise either, but she's working for us and mother insisted on Elouise volunteering with me, so mother has just learnt to deal with her. Barely.

The door silently swings open, where Smith wordlessly greets us, and he takes my jacket as the doors shut with a thud.

We pause in the corridor, and Elouise casts the door to the servant quarters a dark look, scrunching her nose. The bathroom must be leaking again.

"You can use my shower," I tell Elouise. I don't know why I bother reminding her; she's going to use it anyway, like she does every day. She creeps upstairs before her duties and uses my bathroom to wash and dress, then creeps back downstairs again. She showed me the tiny basin and tub in the servant quarters, and instantly my bathroom became our bathroom.

So, after she grabs her reaping clothes, we go up the stairs, Elouise dutifully quiet. My house is the only place where she keeps quiet, father's orders.

We enter my room, and Elouise is at the other side before the doors even closed.

Her top is off before she reaches the bathroom. _Oh._

I immediately look away, my cheeks blushing as the bathroom door clicks shut. Elouise's shirt is still on my floor, and I stare at it for a moment, then look away again. I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't seen the way it fit her figure in training. The thought makes me blush further.

Elouise doesn't take long, waltzing back into my room clad in a black dress, plain except the family crest stamped over her heart. We stare at each other for a moment, the silence dragging on, but then she finally cocks her head towards the bathroom door.

"Are you going or what?"

"Oh, right, sorry."

I rush past her, my head bowed and my face bright red.

* * *

The square is already bustling by the time we get there, and I'm sweating slightly in my suit. I feel so overdressed; no one else looks this… _fancy_, and I stand out like a sore thumb. I can tell Elouise is uncomfortable too, because she keeps on picking at her dress.

The summer sun beats down on the fidgety crowd, and I find myself tugging at my collar as the space around me shrinks and shrinks as the square fills. Elouise's expression is determined, and she's leaning forward slightly onto the balls of her feet, ready to sprint for the stage. I suppose I should be getting ready, too, because, while I may be quick, the other guys around me are much bigger and stronger. Speed is the only way I've got a chance in this.

At long last, mayor Quail takes her place on stage, and she reads out the speech as quickly as she can, dying to get back to her seat in the shade. I can see the sweat sheening her forehead and the marks on the underarms of her blouse from here.

"And now," sighs the mayor, patting her forehead with her handkerchief, "please give a round of applause for this years escort: Charm Hayes."

Mayor Quail quickly beetles back to her seat, and now, in her place, stands our _beloved_ escort: Charm Hayes, who is, this year, dyed a shade of light blue. Her pink eyes, framed by ridiculously long fake eyelashes, blink at us repeatedly as she begins her usual speech. Has she got something in her eyes? She's blinking every couple seconds.

"Good morning, District 1! Such a fine day for a reaping, is it not?"

A slight cheer from the 18 and 17 year olds causes Charm to grin her whitened smile at us, and then she continues in her shrill squealing voice.

"And now, for the moment we've all been waiting for…" The cheering dies down, and the tension thickens as the older kids prepare to battle it out for their spot on the stage.

"Good luck," I whisper to Elouise, but she doesn't seem to hear me, she's too focused, I guess.

"Time for the ladies!"

Charm trots to the female bowl, and plucks a piece of paper from the very surface of the glass orb. She must know there's not much point in looking for a slip, somebodies going to volunteer anyway.

Charm takes the slip back to the microphone, and clears her throat before breaking open the slip.

"Ma-"

A chorus of "I volunteer" rings through the square, and already Elouise is gone, shoving aside several other girls as she sprints to the stage, and she still manages to look perfectly graceful as she makes her way up to the stage, even when she shoves a girl off of the stairs, letting her fall to the ground with an alarming thud.

She made it. Elouise made it. Should I feel glad? Probably. Am I?

I don't know.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Charm squeals, placing her hands on Elouise's shoulders. Elouise is staring at me with a look that says _you better be ready_.

"And what's your name, darling?" Charm asks, leaning the large microphone towards Elouise, who turns her attention to the cameras, and a slow smirk spreads across her face.

"Elouise Paxton, and don't wear it out."

Charm gives Elouise a final pat on the shoulder, and I'm instantly glad my spot is so close to the stage; I can feel everyone tense around me.

"And now, for the men!"

My heart quickens, and there's a twisting sensation in my gut that I try to ignore as I ready myself. I just have to dodge past the guys in front of me and run up the stairs. That's it.

That shouldn't be too hard. Right?

Charm makes her way to the boys bowl, and once again she simply plucks a slip from the surface. I give Elouise a final glance.

She's staring at me, her face twisted into a slight frown. It makes my blood rush quicker.

"Oa-"

"I volunteer!"

I take my chance, surging past the two burly kids in front of me, and I hear them start to run as well. I'm pretty sure that they're already beginning to gain on me, and if they catch me they'll probably snap me in half.

_For God's sake, legs, do me a favour and hurry up._

I'm at the stairs, but there's a kid one step ahead of me, so I give him a shove. He stumbles and stops for a moment, so I sprint past him and onto the stage.

_Yes. Yes, yes, yes! _

Elouise's face is back to normal, and she gives me a smirk as I reach Charm in the center of the stage.

"And what's your name, love?"

_Love? _No one's called me _love _before… I certainly don't find Charm attractive, she's slightly scary looking actually, not to mention she's probably well into being middle age, but still words fail me for a moment.

"A-Alistair Lennox."

Charm grins at me, and her teeth are so white that I squint a little bit looking at them.

"Let's hear it for this years tributes: Elouise Paxton and Alistair Lennox!"

The crowd cheers as Charm beckons for us to shake hands, and Elouise stares at me as she grabs my hand.

She's smirking, as usual, but there's something in her eyes that makes me feel uneasy.

_Forget it_, I tell myself, _it's just a trick of the light. _

Yes. That's it. A trick of the light. Her eyes look perfectly normal again.

_Calm down, Alistair, your parents didn't raise a baby. They raised a leader. A Lennox. They raised a victor._


	6. Astrid: Already dead

**Hello, my lovelies!**

**Thanks again for all your lovely reviews, they truly mean so much to me. :3**

**Language warning: Like, 2 F-bombs will be dropped. Ermahgerd. I'm so hardcore. Also, I just want to say in advance that some things may be spelt differently, like realise is spelt with a 's' and not a 'z', that's just because I live in England. It's not a typo. Just thought I should put that out there.**

**Anyway, this time, we're in District 10! *Makes whooshing sounds as transition begins.***

* * *

I sigh through gritted teeth as my knot comes undone in my hands yet again. He's tying it too quickly. _Slow down, man. _I think darkly, suddenly tempted to make a noose and strangle him with it.

I wonder what would happen if I did kill him. Well, I'd be shot, wouldn't I? Don't kill other ranch members. I don't know if that's one of the actual rules, but why would I? It's not like I can read the dumb list anyway.

The rope is rubbing my hands, and after one more attempt, I throw it down and turn my back on the man. Of course, he won't notice I'm gone, he didn't even know I was there in the first place.

I skulk along the shadowed ranch, making my way to the giant cattle fields. Most get today off, but not me. Hahaha, a day off at Naple ranch? Oh, my splitting sides.

I reach the stables, saddling up a horse and waking Yank and Lindy before opening the gate to the field. I mount the horse and whistle to the dogs, who happily trot alongside me. At least they're not in a biting mood. My lucky day.

Rounding the herds is a tedious job, but it's something I've learnt to do as quickly as possible, and at least I get to miss some of herding today. Guess the reaping does have an upside. Wu-hey.

The dogs snap at the heels of the cattle, pushing them along into the slaughterhouse pens. I made myself stop feeling bad for them a long time ago. I'd rather not starve, thank you, and I'm sure you'll all make _beautiful_ leather.

Already, most of the cattle are in the pens, but there's one cow that just _won't budge. _No matter how much Yank and Lindy snap at it, it just stares dopily at them.

"Stupid, fucking cow," I mutter, and then I look over my shoulder, expecting Melody to fondly ruffle my hair and scold my 'potty mouth'. Kinda rich coming from the one who mutters more f-bombs under her breath- and at the top of her lungs- than there are fingers, toes and hooves on this entire ranch. That's a lot.

I curse again, just because I can, and trot the horse over to where the cow in question is chewing at some grass. I stare at it for a moment, and then it looks up and stares back.

"Pal," I say, "if it's a stare-down you're going for, you're gonna lose. I happen to be a stare-down master."

The cow lows at me, probably telling me where to go and what to do with myself, and I almost scoff. As if I've never heard that one before.

Lindy finally loses her patience.

Suddenly, snapping and barking turns into growling and bared teeth, and she bites at the cow's leg. Said cow gives a moo of distress and finally gets a move on, running in the direction of the pens, with the dogs still growling and biting. Only now do I feel a little bad for the cow; those dogs sure can bite.

The last of the cattle from this field are loaded into the pens, and so I can call it a day for now. I'll have to come back and round up more cattle after the reaping.

_If-_

Nope. Shut up. Shh. Thoughts, be quiet. I'm not going to be reaped, and that's that.

I keep telling myself this as I get off the horse, lock up the stables and walk back across the ranch, and it's still looping in my brain as I enter my cabin and strip my sweaty, grimy work clothes.

It only stops when I stare at myself in the mirror. _Eh. Meh. Ugh._ That's me in three words. I'm not pretty, I'm scrappy and small and kinda scrawny, and not to mention the skin of my arms is littered in bite scars. Freckled, pink cheeks, a high nose and a pixie cut that's poufy and a little curly.

I look a bit like a boy. _Ugh._

Amber eyes glare back at me as I cross my arms across my chest. This is the ultimate stare-down. I narrow my eyes at myself, challenging the girl in the mirror to hold her gaze. _Fight me._

For the briefest of seconds, I look remotely intimidating. Then I remember I'm mostly naked

I look over to the door, and- Thank God- Mallory, Melody and Snowdrop don't walk in.

Nakedness has a… free feeling about it, but I don't feel like explaining that to whoever walks in.

I grab my clothes.

* * *

"So there we were, covered in cow crap, and this peacekeeper walks over, and he's all like-"

The shrill bell sounds, telling us to leave for the reaping, and Melody flinches as her story is cut off. She feigns annoyance, shaking her fist at the outside world.

"I wasn't finished!"

Mallory chuckles, climbing down from her bunk and patting Snowdrop on the shoulder. Snowdrop looks up, and signs to Mallory, who signs back. I'm still learning to sign, so I don't quick catch what they say, but from the look they give each other, it's probably about the reaping.

The bell shrills again.

"Fine, we're coming," Melody grumbles, swinging the door open and waving for us to follow. Once we've all scurried out, she slams it back shut, which is still barely audible over that stupid bell.

I swear, one day I will throw a rock at that thing.

Mallory and Snowdrop continue signing to each other, and Melody carries on with her story, but I'm only really half listening. I keep looking around, looking to see if ma or pa will come into sight, and for a moment I have to consider if I'd even _recognise_ them. We're practically strangers.

_That's stupid,_ I tell myself, _of course you'll recognise them. You sat together for lunch a few days ago. Calm down._

Still no sight of ma and pa, maybe they've already left? Or they could be looking for me too?

Melody must notice my expression, as she wraps an arm around my shoulder and gives me a side hug.

"Hey, pal," she says, ruffling my hair, "I'm sure your parents are around, maybe we'll run into them along the way."

Not much chance, but I hope anyway.

Naple ranch is right on the outskirts of our town, so it's a good few miles walking to the square, which has been filled with giant, red banners, stamped either with the Capitol sign or 'The 47th Hunger Games'. The lead up games to the quarter quell are often forgotten, although no one's forgetting last years games for many reasons. One: our male tribute made it to the final 6, and two: Anouk Darkwood won. I don't really know why the Capitol hates her father. I think he pulled some dumb stunt in his games. It's not like anything _happened. _Jeez.

I get a final hug from my friends, and then they nudge me towards the blood tables. They slot themselves into the crowd, and I see them worming their way to the front of the crowd so they're next to the 13 year olds pen.

I hate needles, especially injections, so I don't look as my finger is pricked and I'm bustled along. I feel like the damn cattle, being herded into a pen. I'm beginning to sense the irony. I'm sure the cattle would be laughing if they were here.

Do cows laugh? Huh. I don't know. Probably not.

I distract myself with the thought as I squeeze through the throngs of 13 year olds, not recognising anyone I pass, and I know none of them know who I am either.

I reach the edge of the pen, where my friends have dragged Quinton along with them. They're still a few rows back, and can't get any closer, but they all give me encouraging and slightly pitiful smiles. They made it without being reaped, so I can too.

Yeah.

The mayor has almost finished his speech. I'm pretty sure he's somewhat drunk, as he has a huge, dopey smile on his face and he's swaying and stumbling slightly. Oh, I'm sure this is great television.

There's a sicky feeling in my stomach, clenching and twisting my insides, and I kinda want to be sick. The girl a couple spots to my right is trembling like a leaf, and I think her knees are going to buckle from beneath her, actually, I'm a little shaky too. I fold my arms tightly around myself, clenching my jaw, trying not to cry, faint or scream, or all three at once.

"And now," Mayor Reed drawls, "for our escort… Auricular Selkirk!" He must have forgotten her name for a moment, and the flustered look on our escort's face suggests she noticed too.

"Hi, Naple town," Auricular squeaks nervously; it's her first year, "wasn't that a lovely speech?"

A couple muttered comments from the audience, and Auricular gives a cautious smile as she continues.

"So, uh, I guess I'll start with the girls then?"

Very professional. I'm sure the Capitol is dying to sponsor this years tributes.

A final smile from our escort before she sets off to the girls bowl, and my gut clenches again. There's bile rising in my throat, but I force it back down and take some deep breaths as Auricular picks a slip right at the bottom of the bowl.

She's walking to the microphone-

_It's not me. It's not me. It's not me._

She's holding up the slip to the camera-

_You'll be fine. Don't worry._

She's unfolding the slip-

_It's not me. It's not me. I'm only in there a couple ti-_

"Astrid Snelling!"

Everything stops, and then everything hurts instead. My heart, my throat, my stomach, my clenching muscles, my lungs, they all burn and ache. I'm not breathing.

_Breathe. _I tell myself

_I can't. I can't. I can't. No. I can't _breathe!

"Astrid!"

I hear the sound, but my body doesn't hear it, and I'm still frozen.

No. No. NO.

Someone's got my arms, and I'm being dragged to the stage. Peacekeepers. I've been reaped, aw hell no, not me! It wasn't meant to be _me! _My eyes are going blurry, and I realise I'm going to cry.

Hold it back. Don't cry. Stop it-

I cry anyway. I wail as hard as my lungs will let me, and I need to get away because there are too many hands and I'm almost at the stage and someone has to volunteer.

I'm thrashing in the peacekeepers grip, screaming like a wild thing, my eyes and throat stinging as tears pour outta my eyes.

And then the hands are gone. I'm on the stage, standing beside a rather scared looking Auricular.

I'm dead. I'm so, so dead. My chances of survival are basically non-existent; no one will want to sponsor me; some career kid will smash my skull in.

Oh God, I'm dead.

And then I cry harder because I don't matter anymore, because it doesn't matter what others think when you're already dead. Right?

* * *

**I totally stole those two last lines off of Astrid's wonderful creator, Nuttmeg. Sorry, I couldn't not use it. :3**


	7. Zeak: The Promise

**Hello, my lovelies! Yes, it's me again, and guess what? It's the easter holidays! Woohoo! This could either mean more frequent chapters, or less frequent because stuff happens, (Like getting my braces put on tomorrow. Kill me now.) But I'm going to say probably more frequent because I have no life outside of the internet, to be honest.**

**Once again, warning for infrequent swearing, and yeah… that's pretty much it. Enjoy! And now, we're heading to the lovely District 7. *Makes wooshing noises as transition begins.***

* * *

I'm so tired.

No surprise there, Fariz has caught another cold, and his coughing has kept me up all night. It'd be a miracle and a half if he went more than two weeks without a blocked nose or a cough, I swear.

"Zee?"

Fariz's voice is groggy and slightly feeble, and it's followed with a knock at my door. I sit up, rubbing my tired eyes as the door cracks open.

"D'you know if we got any tissues?"

"Dunno, little man," I mumble, and Fariz pads across my box room, wiping his nose as he goes.

_Nice._

"Can I stay with you for a little bit?" my brother asks, his brown eyes wide, and I give him a smile, holding an arm open for him to sit on my lap.

God, he's so bony; no twelve year old should be this light. Why can't he put on weight? This is just adding to the problems keeping me awake at night, along with pressing matters such as: Fariz is still being teased, Fariz's graze still isn't scabbing over, Fariz is sick again, and so on.

And then there's the reaping.

"Hey, Zee," Fariz suddenly says, "d'you think, one day, I'll have muscles like yours?"

I almost laugh; I'm nothing compared to some of the guys at work- some of which are younger than me- who's _muscles _have muscles, I'm a little… weedy in comparison.

"Sure," I say, and Fariz grins like he's been presented with all the candy in the world.

"Go on, flex," he says, grabbing my arm, and I sigh.

"I dunno, little man…"

"Aw, c'mon, _please?_"

I pretend to think about it for a moment, and then sigh dramatically again and give Fariz a smile.

"Ok, you've convinced me," I poke his skinny arm, "but only if you do it too."

Fariz grins again, and he begins counting down.

"Three… two… one… flex!"

I make a roaring sound as I flex my arms, and Fariz joins in as he strains his bony arms, too. I chuckle as my brother descends into hysterics, falling against the bed as he roars again.

The laughter quickly dies off, and then the worried expression returns on his face. Whole lot of good that did, then.

"You should probably go get ready, little man, and I said I'd meet Alder before the reaping; we'll pick you up on the way to the square, alright?" I say, and I start wriggling my legs out from underneath Fariz's back.

"Sure thing, Zee," Fariz says, slowly sliding off the bed and shuffling back to the door. He gives me one last wave before slipping back out of my room.

"Oh, hi mom."

_She's not mom_, I think, a stabbing sensation beginning in my heart,_ she's not the mom who I made a promise to. _The_ promise. That's mom, and she's gone. Kauri is just… a replacement._

I feel really mean for thinking that; Kauri is lovely, and I _do_ like her, but she's just not _mom_. That's all.

"Hello, sweetie," Kauri says, "was that you and Zeak I heard?"

_It's Zee. _

"Yeah," Fariz says, and I don't hear the rest as I throw off the covers and stand, the sharp sensation in my heart and behind my eyes mixing with the fear of the reaping as I open my closet.

_She's not mom. _

I sigh. None of my white shirts are _white_ anymore, more like a yellowish colour; they're all pretty old. But, hey, at least they go with brown pants.

I roll the sleeves to my elbows as I walk down the stairs, rubbing my eyes again, and grin at dad as we pass. He's always been one to love from a distance, so he just gives me a slight smile in response.

"Be back soon, I'm gonna go see Alder," I call, and Kauri's goodbye is cut off by the door shutting.

* * *

"You look like shit. Did you sleep _at all _last night?"

"I feel it too, and no, I didn't; Fariz is sick again."

Alder sighs, and he gives me a look. It's an _Are You Serious?_ look.

"He was coughing his lungs out all night; it kept me up, ok?"

"Well, as long as he don't start coughing up blood, he's good." Alder rather bluntly says, and I stare at him for a moment until he sighs and says, "Calm down, Zee, I'm just messing with you."

I give him a slight sheepish smile as he glowers at me. He does that a lot, glowering, I mean, which is a shame, he looks good when he smiles.

Who am I kidding? He _always_ looks good.

"Seriously, Zee, you don't need to worry so much, I swear you're already getting stress lines."

"I can't calm down, it's my job to worry about him."

"No it isn't, not if you don't want it to be. Besides, doesn't your mom constantly fuss over him?"

"She's not my mom," I interject, and it's my turn to frown this time, "and Kauri is busy a lot, also, who's gonna stop him from getting teased at school?"

Alder gives a dismissive sigh, signaling the end of the conversation, and pushes himself off his perch on the low branch, landing with ease on the hard-packed dirt beneath us. I always hesitate slightly before hopping off, and I land a little less gracefully beside him, my ankles stinging slightly. He's been in the lumber business much longer than me, and I don't work _up_ the trees, but it's a little annoying I still can't make a simple landing.

The woods are always quiet on reaping day; no one's working, so Alder and I wander aimlessly between the tall trees, occasionally climbing a few of them and doing nothing useful. It's nice to just breathe for once.

We walk in silence for a while, Alder occasionally scuffing his boots and me with my arms tightly folded, if only to crush the sensation in my gut.

"You worried?" I ask, because I really am curious, Alder rarely shows any emotion other than grumpiness.

Alder looks at me for a moment, and then he shrugs with a slightly bemused look on his face.

"'Course I am, it's the reaping."

"Oh," I grin again, my face a little red, "didn't look it, that's all."

Alder's expression changes to a slight smirk, and that _lopsided smile._

_He has a dimple._ _Oh my god. _

His expression suddenly becomes knowing, and I look away as he laughs at me.

And then I almost ask. I almost ask him what he thinks of me. _Almost._

I want to know, but I'm afraid of the answer. What if he doesn't like me like that? He probably doesn't, but I can't help but hope. The woods have been a place of fantasies for an embarrassingly long time now.

"We should probably get going," I sigh, faking nonchalance and trying to change the subject. Alder simply grunts in response, and so we ditch whatever trail we're strolling down and head back out of the woods.

* * *

We arrive back at my house, and Fariz is already at the door, blowing his nose rather loudly as we approach. He looks up from the ground, and a grin lights up his face.

"Hey, Zee!" He comes running down the path, and he launches himself at me in a hug. The air is knocked out of me as he hits my chest.

"Hey, little man," I breathe, regaining my breath, and I ruffle his hair as Kauri and dad step outside, their expressions grim.

"Let's get going, then," dad sighs, and he gives us all a sad look, which I return for a second, but then I'm smiling, somewhat weakly, as I turn to Alder and start walking.

Fariz sees some of his little buddies and he runs ahead to catch up, almost tripping over his own feet as he goes.

"See, Zee," Alder says, "Fariz has friends to look out for him; you don't have to get your panties in a bunch."

"I don't wear…" I trail off. _What's the point of arguing? _

Conversation pretty much ends there, and I'm left with my thoughts as Alder whistles to himself.

Fariz is laughing at something one of his friends said. _Do I really need to look after him? It takes up all my time, and maybe I want to look out for myself for a change._

_But the promise._

_Yeah, that's why I have to. The promise. _

I cough to banish the stinging behind my eyes, and Alder casts me a sidelong glance before going back to his whistling, as if nothing's the matter.

He doesn't care.

It takes a few more moments to stop the lump in my throat.

Fariz and his friends slow down and wait for us as we approach the square, and they disband, running off with their parents for the final stretch. Fariz rushes back to me, grabbing my hand.

"Hey, little man," I say, my throat and eyes still hurting a bit, and I force myself to smile despite the nausea building up in my stomach.

"Zee," Fariz says, suddenly quiet, "I'll be alright, won't I?"

I nod, but I don't know if either of us are particularly convinced.

The line to the blood tables are getting pretty long, and we shuffle forward every few seconds. It gives us more time for the impending doom to settle.

Eventually, we're at the tables, and I squeeze Fariz's shoulder as he gets his finger pricked. Next, it's me, and I just have to walk Fariz to his section-

A peacekeeper pushes Fariz along, and then he's gone in the crowd of twelve year olds.

He's gone.

My finger's pricked, and Alder gives me a slight push to hurry me along; I'm holding up the line and the peacekeepers won't be impressed.

I look over my shoulder as I make my way to the seventeen year olds section, and Alder just nods, telling me to go, and he'll catch up.

It still takes me a moment to keep walking.

I smile at people as I pass, and a few of them smile or nod back, but most just stare or look at the ground. No one's particularly in the mood for smiling, so I'll smile for them.

I find a gap in the crowd and wait for Alder, occasionally glancing at the giant screen, which is giving us a glimpse at Seven's capitol, where our escort, Brannock Dugald, and the victors of Seven are sat alongside the mayor, who looks thoroughly bored.

Man, if only we could all be that indifferent.

Suddenly, Alder is at my side, smirking as I jump at his sudden appearance. I think he's about to say something, but he's cut off by the mayor.

"Right, the Treaty," he sighs, his stuck up nose in the air as he unfolds his paper and drones out his speech in a flat monotone, like he couldn't care less.

"Prick," Alder mutters, and I can't help but agree. Never liked that man.

I'm pretty sure the mayor's dragging this speech for as long as he can, just to be a pain, because almost 5 minutes later he's still going. That speech is only meant to be about 2 or 3.

Alder sighs.

"And now for our escort, all the way from the Capitol, Brannock Dugald."

Our escort appears on screen, beetling up to the microphone with his bejeweled wig and suit, and grins before starting,

"Oh great," Alder grumbles, "speech number two."

Somebody shushes him, and I feel Alder bristle slightly.

Brannock keeps it brief, however, and all too soon he's grabbing a female slip from the bowl. Instantly, I think of all the girls I know from school, and their sisters and friends. Oh God, what if it's someone I know?

"And this years female tribute is…" Brannock beams as he unfolds the slip, and the district becomes so quiet that I don't think anyone's even breathing.

"Malak Salvan!"

I don't recognise the name, and people begin looking around as the cameras try to see if the poor girl is in this square.

Finally, she appears on screen from another town- she's sixteen- and she's desperately looking to the crowds along the side.

I wonder where her parents are in those crowds.

The girl on screen is shortish and looks strong, and she's kinda pretty, but also slightly tough looking. She's dressed in an old looking yellow dress, and she tugs on the skirt as the peacekeepers approach.

Her gaze changes from looking for her family to scanning the crowd of kids around her, probably looking for a volunteer, but it doesn't look like anyone's stepping forward as she's dragged by the peacekeepers.

Instantly, the tough vibe vanishes as she's stood beside some escort in her town, and I can see the unshed tears in her eyes as she desperately looks for a volunteer.

Anyone.

And my heart breaks slightly for her as no one steps forward.

"What a fine young lady," Brannock grins, and the girl looks positively miserable.

"And now for our lucky young man!"Brannock continues, his voice ringing throughout the whole of Seven through the speakers. His voice rattles my nerves as it pulses through our square.

On screen, he marches over to the male's bowl, and the camera occasionally cuts from town to town, panning over the crowds of kids, scrutinizing each one of us to see if we're the 'lucky' one.

The camera cuts back to Seven's capitol as Brannock produces a slip, and quickly makes his way back to the microphone, where he begins opening up the paper.

_It could be anyone._

_The chances are way to slim for it to be you._

_Or Fariz. Or Alder. Or anyone you know. Don't freak out._

"And this years male tribute is…"

Even Alder is tense, his shoulders hunched and his expression slightly pained-

"Fariz Shajirah."

_What?_

Instantly, Alder has a vice grip on my arm as I begin sweating and my breathing becomes laboured.

"Don't even fucking _think_ about it," he whispers, and my brain's going cloudy.

"I… I wasn't going to," I mumble, dazed as my heart thuds too hard, too fast. The cameras have spotted my brother, and everyone's advancing on him.

_But the promise_, a little voice whispers.

_But I don't want to die! I can't do it. I should, I could, but I can't. My feet won't move and I can't win the games. I can't kill others!_

_I'm so sorry, mom. I've let you down, but I can't do this._

The peacekeepers are marching towards Fariz, and I crane my neck to find him in the twelve year olds section right at the back of the square.

_I'm sorry, little man._

The first peacekeeper makes a move for Fariz, and it's then that I find my little brother-

"Fariz Shajirah?" Brannock calls, and Fariz looks so calm-

And his words knock the air out of me.

"It's ok," he smiles, "my brother will take care of it."

_What? No! No, no, NO._

Instantly, the peacekeepers stop, taken aback, and the first to recognise that it means me begin to turn.

No! I wasn't going to take care of it! I can't take care of it, Fariz.

"Oh shit," Alder whispers, his hand still locked on my arm.

We both know the stories that Fariz tells his friends. Heroic brother, Zee, saves the day again! Oh, of course he'd think I'd step in. He think's I'm freaking invincible.

More and more heads are looking my way, and on screen the attention is turning to me. I can see the panic in my own eyes on all the screens.

Everyone's looking at me with mixtures of pity, sadness and admiration, along with expressions I don't recognise.

They all expect me to do it. Because Zee always does what's right. Zee helps others. Zee's good.

Yeah, Zee's a good guy, isn't he?

Do the good thing. Do the right thing. Think of mom.

I sigh, and I look at Alder with a look that I hope tells him _I'm so sorry._

"I volunteer as tribute."

My voice sounds kinda weak as Alder drops my arm, and he shakes his head and mutters something that makes my heart hurt.

"Oh, you idiot, Zee."

I look to Fariz, who gives me a reassuring look as the peacekeepers make their way over.

I did the good thing. I did the _right_ thing.

Right?


	8. Fritz: Head in the Clouds

**Hey! Hope you guys all had a great Easter, and if you don't celebrate Easter, I hope you enjoyed your long holiday. :)**

**So. One more reaping to go after this! Woohoo! We're off to District Twelve! *Makes whooshing sound as transition begins*. (That's becoming my thing.)**

I stare at the ceiling, trying to muster the strength to get up. I've been doing it for so long that even Lark's snoring has become background noise, and that's a feat.

Usually, I have no trouble getting up in the morning; I have merchants to bother, canaries to feed, stuff to do, but reaping day just sucks the life out of me.

My eyes become unfocused and the ceiling goes blurry, and I take it as my cue to finally get up. I reach my arms up above my head and stretch, making that high pitched, screechy noise that means _yes, this is a very good stretch_, and stand up. Somehow, the noise doesn't wake Lark, but if her own snoring doesn't wake her up, I don't know what will.

I shuffle across to where Lark is sleeping, and tap her stomach with my foot. She's curled up in the small spot of available floor, which _is_ pretty damn small, while the rest of the floor space is taken up by Ralf and Severin's beds. Cramming all three beds in here took some serious planning skills.

Lark stirs slightly, batting my foot away and grumbling something, and after a few more moments she sighs and begins sitting up.

"Moorning," I coo as Lark rather groggily rubs her eyes, and she flips me off as I pull some clothes from under my bed and dress. I don't particularly care that Lark can see; I could look worse, and I grin at her as I leave the cramped bedroom.

Everyone else in the house is still passed out from their shifts in those god forsaken mines, so it's eerily quiet in our house.

Almost completely quiet.

Granddad's canaries chirp to themselves down the hall, and I can hear him shuffling about and mumbling to himself. I love granddad, I really do, but he's a few crayons short of a full set, so I should probably make sure he's not feeding the birds coal dust or something. Besides, he's good company.

"Morning Granddad," I call, poking my head around the door. Granddad looks up from his birds to grin at me, then hands the nearest canary a handful of seeds. Mom complains to no end about how much we waste on the birds, but she lets them stay.

"How're the birds?" I ask, taking a handful of seeds and clicking at one of the canaries, trying to get its attention.

"Oh, they're just fine, my boy," Granddad smiles, stroking his canaries affectionately. I think one of the reasons the birds have been allowed to stay is because of all the people he saw die in those mines, which I add to my list of reasons why I refuse to work down there. When I tell my family I want to look after the canaries as a job, they just sigh and give me _that_ look.

I don't realise I'm scowling until I feel Granddad's gaze on me.

"What's the matter, boy?" he asks, pinning me with his grey-blue eyes. Granddad insists it was _his_ grandparents that were merchants, but dad is pretty sure it was his granddad that we got the blue eyes from.

"It's just," I sigh, "I feel so trapped, in Twelve, I mean. My future is destined to be coal mining, but I want to see the world, do something with my life. I don't want to fade away into nothing," we're silent for a moment, "D'you know what I mean?"

Granddad sighs, giving me a sad smile and patting my back.

"Boy, d'you think that, if we had the choice, any of us would work in the mines?"

I shake my head.

"Right answer. I'm sorry to say it, but you just gotta suck it up, boy. The Capitol made damn sure that the cycle can never be broken, not without being bombed to ashes. As much as I hate to say it, the Capitol is pretty clever."

Granddad's words shock me. Never in a million years, would I have thought my granddad, the man that lived through the dark days, the rebellion, and now this, would ever say such a thing. I wordlessly drop the birdseed into the canary's cages, and leave the room.

The bedroom door opens down the hall, and Ralf steps out, slumped and covered in coal dust. He looks so much older these days, even when he smiles he looks like he might collapse.

"Hey, Fritz," he mumbles sleepily, and he opens his arms for a hug. I'm reluctant to walk into them, because he stinks of burning coal and dank since he started work in the mines, but his strong arms and heartbeat remains the same. I'm not a baby, but I never see Ralf anymore, so I'll take this opportunity.

"Lark's up, by the way," Ralf says, "she says to remind you that Glenn isn't coming over this morning, so we shouldn't wait for him. Also, she needs help getting her stuff together after the reaping for when she spends the night at his house next week."

"Such loving words, big brother," I grumble into his chest, and Ralf laughs as he ruffles my hair. At nineteen, he's only a few years older than me, yet he towers over me by at least a head.

"I need to go wake Severin," Ralf finally says, and I let him go. He's barely through the doorway when Lark strides out, dressed and grumpy looking.

We make eye contact for a split second, and that's all it takes for me to think of the perfect way to annoy her.

"_The sun has got his hat on, hip, hip, hip, hip, hooray!_" I sing into her ear, and I laugh as her scowl deepens. She's never been a morning person.

"Don't you have a paint bomb to deal with?"

"Nah, not feeling it today."

Lark's eyes go wide with fake surprise, and she places a hand to her chest.

"Fritz Kolenberg, not in the mood for ruining some merchant's day? Heaven to Betsy let's see if pigs are flying."

"Your words wound me, Lark."

Finally, she cracks a smile, and she ruffles my hair before we walk to the small kitchen for breakfast.

* * *

"Fritz, shut up."

I look up from my breakfast and stop my story, scowling at my brother across the table. God, Severin is such a pain; he's so stiff and boring.

"_You _shut up."

Lark sighs, chewing her flat bread and staring into the distance.

"Why don't you go shove your bread up your-"?

"_Boys_," mom snaps, her voice sharp, and we both fall silent.

"Sorry, mom," Severin grumbles, glowering at me, and I return the scowl.

"Yeah, sorry mom."

She just sighs and then she and Lark share a look.

There's a little lump of cheese on my plate, and my brain autopilots as I pick the lump up onto my finger and flick it across the table.

And the lump lands splat bang onto Severin's forehead.

His head snaps up from his plate, and his chair scrapes back as he stands.

_Oh? He want's to do this, does he? I could take him, yeah, I could make mince meat of him._

My chair falls as I jump up, my fists already clenched.

"Severin, Fritz, pull yourselves _together_!"

Mom's voice hits like a slap, and we both freeze in our places.

"The reaping's making you act like animals, so if you want to fight, go out into the yard and fight like a couple feral dogs."

Severin and I narrow our eyes at each other, but we both sit back down and go back to our food, and Lark kicks me under the table. Even Ralf looks peeved.

Dad has this sad look on his face, and for a moment I think he might cry or something.

"Why can't you boys just get along?"

Severin is still glaring as he answers.

"Well, maybe if_ someone_ just grew up and got his head out of the _fucking_ clouds, he'd realise he has to stop being such a little baby-"

_Hold up. How dare he? That stuck up little prick._

I stand again and run around the table, despite mom's protests and Lark's yelling. I'm going to pound him.

I launch myself at him, and I knock him out of his chair, going down with him.

* * *

Mom kicked us out of the house. I can't believe it. She told us not to come back until we'd sorted ourselves out, and Lark must've excused herself or something, because she sits down on the dry grass beside me.

"Jesus, Fritz, you idiot."

I prod at my split lip, scowling, and hiss as it throbs painfully. For a total prick, Severin can sure throw a good punch.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking," my lip stings again, "that Severin was being a prat."

"Well I think you were being a prideful idiot."

I scoff, and begin prodding at a bruise that's begun forming on my cheekbone.

"Your parents were so pissed, it was kinda terrifying, so I said I'd sort you out so they wouldn't come and do it themselves."

"Cheers."

"Don't thank me," she says, some of the anger fading, and I smile at her despite my lip. "Just don't pick any more fights, your parents might kick you out for good, then you'd be a bum like me."

My smile drops and we fall quiet, staring at the people passing in their coal covered reaping clothes. I roll my too big trouser legs up and push my sleeves up.

"Jeez, that got dark, didn't it?" Lark chuckles, but her laughter sounds flat, and then we're silent again.

The front door opens, and mom, dad and Ralf exit; Granddad stopped coming to the reaping ages ago. Fair enough, if you ask me.

Mom doesn't say a word as she passes us, and I pull myself to my feet. I'm not apologising to Severin, and I'm certainly not apologising first. I'm not kissing his smelly feet, thanks.

The walk through the Seam is silent, and as we step into Town grounds, I glare at every snooty merchant we pass. They've all got their heads up their asses.

Lark, Severin and I have to run to sign in on time, and it looks like mom and dad will have to watch the reaping from a screen somewhere else in the district. The peacekeepers barely even look at us as they jab our fingers and shove us along, and I cast Severin one last scowl as we head to the fifteen year olds section and he goes to the sixteen year olds.

_Prick._

The mayor has already started his speech, and his shaky hands clutch the paper as his eyes dart across the crowd. I swear that man thinks he's about to be shot or something.

_Now wouldn't that be exciting?_

The mayor finishes his speech, and there's an awkward applaud as he introduces our escort: Althea Clackmannan.

Now, I hate the Capitol as much as the next guy, but Althea sure is pretty. _Hot _doesn't quite describe it; she's not _sexy_, but she's got a nice face and her smile is warm.

I wouldn't be caught dead saying that out loud, though. Mom would definitely kick me out if I did.

I'm hit by a wave of guilt as I remember the look on her face when she sent me out. She always looks so _tired._

"Hello, District Twelve," Anthea sings. That's another thing, despite the Capitol accent, her voice manages to sound sweet, and not… stupid.

"It's that time of year again, where we select our brave man and woman to fight in the games!"

Silence across the square, and I almost feel bad for her. Almost. I still hate the Capitol. I should probably hate Althea, too.

"Ladies first, shall we?"

The silence continues as Althea carefully picks a slip, and Lark has her hand clasped in mine.

"Hi guys," a voice whispers, and I almost jump out of my skin.

"Damn it, Glenn," I breathe, and Glenn almost manages a smile, but his attempt is interrupted by Althea's voice booming across the square.

"And our female tribute is…"

Larks grip tightens in mine, and her hand has become clammy.

"Talia Thunders!"

Lark sighs with relief, and then her hand is gone from mine as everyone scopes the girl.

I see the crowd of twelve year olds part behind us, and my heart sinks. It's never good news when a twelve year old kid is reaped, and my chest tightens further as a tiny, Seam girl with choppy hair shuffles past, barely unshed tears in her eyes.

"Poor thing," Glenn mumbles, a pained expression on his face.

Althea asks if the girl has any words, but she shakes her head and looks at her sandals.

"And now, for our young man."

Glenn whispers a good luck into my ear, and I return it as Althea makes her way to the microphone again, slip in hand.

Occasionally, I wonder what would happen if I was reaped, and I still don't know the answer. To be perfectly honest, I don't really want to find out.

Lark must sense my nerves, as her hand is back in mine as Althea unfolds the slip, her golden eyes taking in the name carefully written down inside.

"And our male tribute is…"

Glenn and I take in a sharp breath, as do most of the guys around us.

"Fritz Kolenberg."

Oh. The air is knocked out of me as eyes instantly find me. I wasn't ready for that, and those two words hurt more than any of Severin's punches.

Oh God, what do I usually do in this kind of situation?

Smile? Don't think I can do that. Make a joke, however, I might be able to manage, if only to prevent myself from breaking down on stage.

I pry my hand from Lark's, and make my way out of the fifteen year olds section. I just have to get up there and keep it together.

_Keep it together, goddamn it._

The girl- Talia, I think they said her name was- is staring at me as I make my way up the wooden stairs. She looks about as terrified as I feel, and I can't make eye contact with Althea as I take my place beside her.

"Any words?"

"Uh," my voice sounds weak as it echoes across the square, "Y'know, I think this adds the happy to my Hunger Games, guys."

It's an awful and feeble excuse for a joke, and yet it gets a weak chuckle from a couple people in the crowd. Usually, that'd be a pretty shoddy reception, but hey, it's the reaping.

I manage a small smile, and even Talia looks a little less like she's about to pass out.

Guess I did some good, then. Maybe the Capitol like kids with split lips and bad jokes?


	9. Lynne: Mask

**Hello, my lovelies! Look at me, being a speedy gonzalas with these updates. Yeah, don't expect that again, heheh; this is my last day with the house to myself, so I'll have to battle for right to the computer until term begins again. Also, I'm probably killing my insides with all the pot noodles and chocolate I'm eating, and guess who just remembered they have to run the 1500m when I go back to school? Oh god. *cries*.**

**Uh, very brief yucky stuff and mentioning of a fishhook stuck in a hand, but if that puts you off I really don't know what you're doing in the Hunger Games fandom, reading SYOTs. Also, the method mentioned is actually how people get fishhooks out of hands. Look it up. ^_^.**

**And so, this is the last reaping chapter! Ermahgerd! This one's a little shorter, I think, just 'cause I want to get the reapings out of the way. We're going to… *drumroll* District Four! *makes whooshing noise as transition begins*.**

* * *

It's absolutely boiling in the market, and I wipe sweat from my forehead for what feels like the ten millionth time. My shirt is sticking to my back with sweat and I feel like I might pass out, so it's a typical day in Four, then.

I drum my nails against my money tin, listening to the sound it makes as I stare at other people's stalls. The man opposite me is selling pretty looking trinkets made from sea glass, and the woman in the stall next to him is selling dairy produce. Glad I'm not at that stall, it must smell awful.

My crates of apples are almost empty. People come rushing over when I get here; there's not a lot of fruit going around in Four, it's all just fish and sea water.

I smile at a pair of fishermen that pass, and soon I'm being handed money as a handful of apples are bought. And people kindness is weak. I smile to myself as I tip the money into my tin.

I look to the small clock tower with its wind-worn stone and sea glass clock face, and squint against the sun to read the time. Almost midday. I should get going, mother will be expecting me back anyway.

I pick up my small crates and my money tin, putting them aside, and close my stall, nodding to the man with the trinkets as I take my stuff. Now for the part I've been dreading: the trek home. I might die from the heat before I get there.

Thankfully, most of the walk is downhill, so I'm not totally despairing yet, but I'm getting so thirsty I might just run to the sea and drink seawater, which would be a terrible idea for obvious reasons.

I smile at people I pass, and I know lots of them recognise me from somewhere or another, when I used to be a fisher, training, the market, school, working with mother or just from around. I'm a friendly person; I talk to a lot of people.

To pass the time, I mentally name all the plants I pass and their medical uses, mother says that whilst my knowledge is good, it's not good enough, and it can take one tiny mistake that can tip the balance of life and death with a patient. I've been practicing nonstop since then.

Home comes into view soon, and I sigh with relief, picking up my pace to get out of the sun as quickly as possible. The windows are all open and no doubt the back door is, too.

I unlock the doors, leaving the crates on the porch, and head inside, kicking off my boots. I would wear sandals, but the ground in Four is covered in crabs and glass and stones, so I don't trust such flimsy footwear.

"Hi, mother," I call, closing the door as she pokes her head around the kitchen door.

"Hi, Lynne," Mother says, smiling slightly, and she steps out into the landing, wiping her forehead with the inside of her arm.

"Anything going on?"

"Oh, yeah," mother sighs, "kid's got a fishhook stuck in his hand, just got here. I need you to find some salve whilst I extract it, ok?"

"Affirmative,' I say, saluting mother, but she doesn't see because she's already rushing back to the kitchen.

_Oh boy._

I enter the room where a boy, maybe a year younger than me, is sat with a fishhook lodged in his palm. It's pretty common in Four, even I have a small scar from where I did it myself once, so mother is already half way through the process of removing it by the time I locate the salve needed.

"Right," mother calmly says, "I'm going to tug the hook out, don't worry, it's pretty painless, just don't think too hard about it, and I'll count you down. Feel free to look away."

Mother has a loop of thin cord around the hook, and she's holding the eye of it down as she counts from three.

"Three…Two…One!"

And with that, she sharply tugs the cord, and _poof! _It's out. I pass mother the salve and immediately she's cleaning his hand; she signals for me to come over, and I already know what to do. I put pressure just below the wound, and hold it there as the boy stares at the hook with a look of horror and disgust.

"Right," mother says, "keep pressure on it for a while and be careful with this hand until it heals. Come see us if there're any problems, ok?"

The boy nods, standing with his bandaged hand, and thanks us before leaving. I watch him go as mother begins cleaning the table up, disposing of the hook and wiping the wood down.

"Honestly," she sighs, "if we had a dollar for every time someone came in with a fishhook lodged somewhere, we'd be richer than the Capitol."

I laugh, and then I remember the tin by my boots.

"Speaking of money," I say, grinning, and I rush out to the landing, grabbing my tin and rattling it as I make my way back to the kitchen, "I made loads at the market today!"

Mother smiles as she takes my tin, and she tips the contents onto the table, giving a low whistle at the pile of coins.

"Good job, Lynne," she smiles at me, "you should probably change, by the way, you've got a bit of…" she points to my shirt, and I look down to see a splatter of blood on the hem.

"Great," I mutter, I _like_ this shirt.

I leave the kitchen and march up the rickety stairs, rubbing at the stain to try and get it out, but it won't go. Hopefully it'll come out in the wash. _Hopefully._

I push the door open to my room, and begin scrabbling about for a clean shirt. Most of my good shirts are in the wash because of the weather, but eventually I find a grey t-shirt that seems just baggy enough that it won't glue itself to me. I swap out my shirt for the grey one and sigh at the sensation of clean, _dry_ fabric.

My eyes catch the clock on my wall, and I freeze.

12:45.

_Oh dear._

_"_Mother!" I yell, already rushing back down the stairs, "The reaping starts in fifteen minutes, we have to go."

I hear a clatter from the kitchen, and mother rushes out, tying her greying, blonde hair into a ponytail and pulling her boots on. I wrestle my own shoes on and we're out the door, rushing down the road in the scorching heat.

I never thought I'd rush so quickly to my potential death, but if we don't go it's certain death, instead. I'll take the risk.

Mother kisses me goodbye before I sign in, and as they jab my finger I remember the fishhook in the boy's hand. I wonder where he is in the crowds of people. If he were reaped, his hand would put him at a giant disadvantage.

I hope he isn't reaped. Someone would probably volunteer, anyway. We are careers, after all.

I didn't train with the intention of actually volunteering. It was a mixture of nagging from Sarah and precaution, besides, in a district full of careers, you really don't want to be that guy that's completely useless at using weapons. Four's a pretty friendly place, but there's going to be psychos no matter where you go. So I train, put on a tough mask and act like I want to be there. I've gotten very good at wearing that mask.

I spot Sarah in the crowd, and she's picking at her bun as I scoot beside her. We exchange a grin as the mayor begins her speech.

"Anything exciting happen, today?" Sarah whispers. She asks me this question every day, mostly as a conversation starter, but she is also genuinely intrigued as to what I've seen with mother that day.

"Just a fishhook," I whisper back, and Sarah sighs in disappointment.

"Nothing serious, then?"

"Nope," I whisper, patting her on the back at her forlorn expression.

"Couldn't even make something up?"

"No, and not all of us have some weird obsession with people's injuries."

"I don't!" Sarah says, a little too loud, as some kids turn and glare at her, "I'm just curious to see how your day went. My life's boring."

I snort at that.

"And now," the mayor says, "for your escort, Winnow Lowe."

There're some cheers from the seventeen and eighteen year olds, and our escort with her pretty bird tattoo takes her place on stage.

It always strikes me how natural our escort looks; she has basically no alterations except for some coloured streaks in her hair, some piercings and her tattoo. She looks a bit like she stepped out of Three or Six's richer areas rather than the Capitol.

"Y'alright, Four?" Winnow asks, grinning at the wild response, "well then, lets get started shall we?"

Another cheer, and Winnow makes her way to the female bowl. No one really gets nervous in career districts, because you can pretty much guarantee someone will step forward unless you're the most hated person there is or people genuinely believe you might win. That very rarely happens.

"Right," Winnow says, holding the slip up to the cameras, "and our female tribute is…"

You can hear the older kids shuffling on the balls of their feet, ready to battle it out to get their spot. I once heard that in One, the tributes are pre-selected, but I don't think that's true; they haven't had a victor for a while, now.

"Lynne Joseph!"

At first nothing happens, and then the silence hits me properly and people begin looking to me. The older kids turn and look at me, and I look back, trying to signal for them to go.

They keep on staring, then there's some mumbling. What're they waiting for? Ok, I'm pretty good with a weapon, and I can be dangerous when I want to be, but I don't kill for _sport! _It's my mask, they just see the side of me that comes out in the training center, the one that isn't a doctor's daughter, the one that can wield daggers and tridents and can fish pretty well.

The mask worked too well.

"C'mon up, love," Winnow says, smiling at me. I don't give up quite yet; someone might still step forward, and for a moment I consider acting weak to try and get someone to step forward, but there's a little voice whispering _don't do that, be tough, put on the mask._

I set my features, covering the fear and doubt that has begun clawing at my insides, and begin making my way towards the stage. I continue making eye contact with various kids in the eighteen year olds, but no one's stepping forward.

I take my place next to Winnow, looking out over the population of Four, and I can see Sarah with a torn look on her face. We make eye contact, and I send her a look saying _don't,_ because I couldn't handle that. I can't handle the idea of Sarah in the games.

Still, no one steps forward.

_They either hate you or they think you can win._

_I doubt they hate me, most of them barely even know me, so maybe they believe I can win? _

_Can I win? Guess I'll have to find out._


	10. Agatha: Freak

**Hello, my lovelies! I'm baaack! So, quick warning, this is the expositional character to end all expositional characters, what with selective mutism and all, so yeah. To the train! *makes whooshing sound as transition begins***

* * *

The moment we boarded the train, I put as much distance between me and everyone else as possible, especially my district partner. He is most certainly deranged; he certainly looks it. Now, I've always been raised not to judge by appearance, but if I were asked to sum Salem up in one word, it'd be crazy.

Our escort has tried luring me out of my room multiple times, for lunch, talking to my mentor, and other _social _things, but I managed to figure out how the complex menu imprinted onto the wall works, and I got myself lunch without having to leave my room. As for people… I'm not a people person, besides, there's clearly unsettled business between our mentors. It doesn't take a genius to notice the tension between the two, which I find odd; I'd heard they got on pretty well. What would I know, though?

I can hear Salem pacing in his room, grumbling to himself, his voice occasionally rising into yelling. I'm making a point of not meeting his eyes, not when we were asked to shake hands, not when we walked to the train, and certainly not when our escort asked Whit and Anouk who they'd like to mentor. We both left before they could answer.

There's a gentle knock on the door, and my fingers stop dancing along the wood of the table.

"Agatha, I understand if you're feeling shy, but you need to come out at some point. It's almost dinnertime and the recaps are about to start. You don't need to speak with anyone, I promise."

I smile a little at that, of course my quietness would be pinned to something like shyness. I guess I am shy, and I'd just rather be alone, in my room and my comfort zone, with my music. It's a shame they don't have a piano here; maybe I should see if that could be arranged.

I suppose I probably should watch the recaps, even if I have no intention of playing this game, it'd be easier to know who to hide from.

As I make my way across my room, I'm struck by how different my routine will be. I stick by the same actions each day: wake, eat, lessons, Griffin, room, spinet, stare, spinet, Griffin, eat, sleep. I like that, it's simple and easy to follow. No more interaction than needed, and most of it spent to myself.

I slide the door open, and briefly my escort looks shocked, like he wasn't expecting me to appear, but then it's replaced by his usual composed smile, and I awkwardly step out into the hallway.

I step into the living room, and instantly regret it. All eyes turn to face me, including Salem's, and I look at my sandals, sitting as far away from everyone else as possible.

I feel my mentors eyes on me as they tensely whisper between each other, and I look up at them through my lashes. Whit has a slightly annoyed look on his face and Anouk looks frustrated at him. I look back down at my feet, not my business.

Our escort, whose name has completely left me, switches on the TV, and I tuck my knees up to my chest as I stare at the screen.

One and Two bring the usual suspects: careers. The willowy blonde boy and a tough looking girl from One catch our escort's attention straight away.

"Wait, wait, did that boy just say he was a _Lennox?_"

"I believe he did," Whit says, looking puzzled as the man on his right gets this excited look on his face.

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, that must be the son of Lara and Chester Lennox, two of District One's most successful luxury businesspeople. They own several diamond mines, and they make the most darling products," the green haired man gushes, and then he points to the bejeweled rings on his fingers.

"Straight from the Lennox mines, see?"

From here, I can tell those rings must be worth millions.

"I'm guessing the girl must work for them, then," Whit says, pointing to the large crest on the girl's chest.

Anouk mutters something under her breath; I think she says "Well, that's fucked up,' and I have to agree. I wonder if anyone recognises my name, Agatha Parker, niece of Theodora Parker, Six's most successful hovercraft parts manufacturer. Aunt Theo would _never_ put one of her workers forward to volunteer for me, trained or not.

The kids from Two don't cause as much of a stir, but the girl does rustle our mentors.

"Doesn't exactly look like a career," Whit says, and I see what he means. The girl barely passes five foot and reminds me, strangely, of an excited puppy. She rushes up onto stage, a spring in her step, and she bounces on the balls of her feet as she introduces herself as Zell Jericho, an ear splitting grin on her face. The boy, however, is nothing unordinary, big, strong and menacing looking.

Three starts fairly normally, with a girl with glasses muttering to herself, a nervous look on her face, shuffles onto stage, but once again, it's the boy who surprises everyone. He's a volunteer.

Only twelve years old and volunteering for the Hunger Games.

Well, then.

Four also brings careers, one reaped and one volunteered, which causes more muttering between our mentors, but I couldn't really care less. They both seem perfectly capable of snapping someone's neck. Five is also pretty ordinary, a girl with grubby knees and a torn dress sleeve and the mayor's son. Nothing new.

Then it's us, District Six, and I know that we're probably the craziest here. My cousins certainly seem to think so.

_Freak._

The Agatha onscreen doesn't realise what's happening at first, she's off in her own little world, but then the peacekeepers grab her and she lets them drag her up onto stage. It's then that you see the building panic in her eyes, and she's on the verge of tipping over when her district partner is reaped.

There was already a gap of people around Salem Venumhall, but it only grows the second his name is called. He skulks onto stage, a sinister look on his face and completely dressed in black. He's the personification of creepy.

Seven brings a pretty girl with a hooked nose and yet another volunteer. A small twelve year old is reaped, and everyone falls silent, both onscreen and in the train, as the boy puts his brother forward.

The cameras then find the brother, whose arm is gripped by his friend, or maybe his boyfriend, and after a few moments of horrified silence he reluctantly volunteers.

"Well, shit," Whit says, and our escort shoots him a look, clicking his tongue at his 'potty mouth', which, I must admit, is pretty bad.

Eight reels out even more strange kids, and again, it's the boy. The girl is a short fourteen year old in a green dress and pretty normal looking, but the boy is far from it.

"He's an albino," Anouk states, and Whit grunts in agreement. The boy that steps forward has snow white hair tied back in a ponytail, glasses framing terrifying reddish eyes and milky white skin. He's short and wiry looking, and he has a smug look on his face as he walks up onto stage, smirking at the cameras and generally looking like he couldn't care less.

So far, it seems, the 47th games is reeling out all sorts of oddities.

Nine brings a screaming girl and a boy who looks positively joyful at the fact he's been reaped, and Ten brings two thirteen year olds, the girl bawling her head off and tugging at her tunic sleeves and the boy barely keeps his composure as he takes his place, desperately trying not to cry.

Eleven is… unusual. The girl seems strangely calm, once the initial shock passes, and even manages a small smile to the cameras. The boy, however, is livid, screaming how someone should've volunteered for him, and that he's 'a god amongst men'. Anouk finds it quite hysterical.

Finally, District Twelve brings a tiny twelve year old and a fifteen year old with a bruised face and a split lip.

"He looks like trouble," our escort mutters, preening his hair, but I don't see it. He looks a bit scrawny, not to mention quite short.

The TV flickers off, and I stand, fully prepared to go back to my room and use the fancy menu to get myself dinner, but Anouk speaks up.

"Everyone needs to attend dinner; there's lots we need to sort out."

No such luck.

Our escort, who Whit calls Brannock, trots ahead of us into the dining compartment, and I make sure to let both of our mentors walk behind Salem before joining the line.

The dining court is spectacular; in fact it reminds me of a fancier version of aunt Theo's dining room, just with a lot more- as Libia or Chassidy would put it- perzazz.

The moment we take our places, me sat next to Salem and Whit and Anouk sat opposite, avoxes begin serving up the first dish: soup with nutty bread, and once again it reminds me of home. Aunt Theo loves soup.

There's a moment of quiet before Brannock speaks up.

"Well, you two should probably pick who you'd like to mentor this year."

Whit and Anouk look at each other for moment.

"I'll take Agatha," Whit says, offering me a smile, which I sort of return. I don't know why Whit would want to mentor me; I'm a bit of a lost cause. I'm not stupid, I know how the games work, and he must know I'm not going to win.

Salem, however, looks like victor material.

Oh.

Whit and I share a look, and I think he sees that I understand. It's Anouk's first year as mentor; he doesn't want her to start with someone who clearly won't win.

I notice Salem's fingers clench around his dinner knife, and I instinctively edge my chair away slightly.

"I'm not going with _her_," he spits 'her' like poison, and Anouk's own hands clench.

"Tough luck."

Then, way to quickly, Salem stands, knife in hand, and I flinch as he thrusts it in Anouk's direction.

"Don't talk to me, bitch."

Anouk and Whit both stand in unison, and Brannock lets out a terrified squeak. I just want to leave.

And then Salem's hand draws back to throw the blade, and Brannock and Whit begins shouting as Anouk gets a knife in her own hand.

But the blade never leaves his hand because suddenly he's pinned down by a hoard of peacekeepers. I had barely noticed them in the shadows.

"For the love of God," Whit yells, "what took you so damn long?"

The peacekeepers stare back with their bug-like helmets, and then they begin dragging Salem off, who's growling and thrashing against them, but eventually they get him out, and the door slides shut.

Anouk's quivering as she drops the knife onto the table, and she sits back down, shortly followed by Whit, and she stares at her food for a long moment before rising again and walking out of the dining compartment.

"I guess I'm taking Salem then," Whit sighs, and with that he leaves too, leaving just Brannock and me. We stare at each other for a second, and he sighs and nods, reading my expression. I stand and scurry out of the dining compartment, retreating to my room

That went _awfully._

In my room, I can't hear Salem screaming anymore, so they must have sedated him, or maybe he just calmed down. I have no idea why he reacted like that; maybe he has a thing about women? It would seem so, he flipped the moment Anouk opened her mouth.

I'll make sure to avoid him even more than I already was.

* * *

I suddenly wake, and I'm struck by that moment of panic you get when you realise you're somewhere unfamiliar; I haven't felt that since I was four. Once I remember where I am, my heart slows a little, and I stare at the darkened room. We must be passing through Five, because outside my window I can see lots of little blinking lights and a giant curved wall, and I recognise it instantly. It's Five's largest hydroelectric dam. I learnt about it a few years ago in Uncle Alphie's lessons.

I stare at it for a while, trying to figure out what woke me. It wasn't a dream, and even if it was I've completely forgotten what it was about, so I continue staring at the dam as my brain pieces it together.

And then I realise what it is.

It's the sound of Salem Venumhall crying.

* * *

**Right, I need to quickly know something: when any of you saw Mockingjay: Part One, did anyone else laugh at the line "Anything old can be brought back into fashion… like democracy." (said by Effie Trinket) Because I was the _only one_ in the cinema who laughed. I need to know, guys.**

**And before you all eat me about the boy from Eight having reddish eyes, severe cases of albinism can cause that person's eyes to be a reddish pink colour. Shhh. *presses finger to your lips*.**

**Anyways, hope you enjoyed. (^_^)**


	11. Bailey: Smile

**Ugh, it's only Monday and I'm already despairing. Help meh. Also, reading Foaly's new SYOT is making me wonder: how much blood/violence/swearing and other stuff like that are you guys ok with? I probably wont step into sex/anything _too_ raunchy territory (I'm way to awkward,) but I have a bloodlust that must be spilt, and I want to know how extreme I can get. Ok? Ok. And tell me if you think the rating should be changed at any point. (That probably won't happen, but oh well.)**

**To the train/remake center! *makes whooshing sound as transition begins.***

* * *

It's early in the morning when the sharp knock wakes me. I rub my eyes as I sit up, then I remember where I am and the tight sensation in my chest returns.

"Bailey? Get ready, love, we're almost there."

_There_ meaning the Capitol. It takes a moment to force myself to stand and respond.

"Ok, I'll be out in a minute."

I hear the sound of Allodia clopping away in her heels, and I stare at the door to my wardrobe for a while, not entirely sure what to do first. Will there be reporters at the station? They don't usually show that back in Eight, but I'm sure every second is being broadcasted in the Capitol.

I should probably wear something nice, then.

It takes a while, but I finally choose something Capitol worthy: a pale pink blouse with small, white dots stitched on, dark, silk trousers and black flats. It looks a bit like one of pa's sketches, and I have to admit it's very pretty.

Me, however…

I don't meet my eyes in the mirror as I brush my hair and dart out of my room, letting the door _whoosh_ shut behind me. I love the sound it makes, and it can really only be described as _whoosh._

I turn to walk down the corridor only to bump into Madras. I can't quite meet his strange eyes as he smirks at me.

"Morning, shark eyes."

I look down at my feet, and quickly shuffle past him. He'd been trying to wind me up all of yesterday, and at first I just pinned him as a common or garden bully, but I'm beginning to think it's more than that.

The thought makes me a little worried.

Allodia smiles at me over the rim of her teacup as I enter the dining compartment, and I return it as I load up a plate and sit beside her. Madras quickly follows, and he quickly glances out of the window, a strange look on his face, before piling his own plate with his breakfast.

Allodia adjusts her horn-rimmed glasses, which, I note, match perfectly with her bright blue dress suit, and start's talking.

"Well, since your mentors decided to lock themselves in their rooms instead of coming out to talk to you," another touch of the glasses, "I'll brief you as to what's about to happen."

Madras leans back in his chair, chewing on some toast, and tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowed slightly as he stares at Allodia.

"In about ten minutes, we will be arriving in the Capitol, where you will be taken to the remake center. I don't know what your strategies are, but you should probably start working on them now; there will be reporters at the stations. For now, I suggest you come across as _likable_," she meets Madras' stare, and he smirks, "and you and your mentors can work on it more later, understood?"

I nod and I open my mouth to answer, but Madras butts in.

"You like Cotton Pield."

Allodia freezes and opens her mouth in protest, which only causes Madras' smirk to grow.

"You do, don't deny it."

Our escort's pale blue skin blushes and she refuses to meet Madras' gaze.

"It's pretty obvious," he says, "every time you mention him, you push your glasses up your nose and smile a bit. You can never meet his gaze when he's with Lacy, because you know they like each other and you know you've got no chance."

I blink, as does Allodia, and now that I think about it, she _does,_ but still, that's her business.

"That was uncalled for," I say accusingly as Allodia rushes out of the room, and Madras simply shrugs as the door shuts.

"She's trying to help you, you know," I continue, "she's just trying to give us advice-"

"Shut up, shark eyes, did I ask for your opinion? No."

And then he gets up and leaves as well. I've never, ever wanted to hit someone before, but right now, I really, _really_ want to hit Madras.

And that scares me.

Linebreak,

Allodia doesn't speak to either of us before we leave the train, and just before she opens the door, she gives Madras a flat look before stepping out into the crowds of reporters.

"Madras, are you excited for the games?"

"Bailey, what are your thoughts on your district partner? Will you ally?"

"Madras, what's your strategy?"

"Bailey, what do you think your chances are?"

Neither of us answers any questions, and we leave a good foot between us as we're squeezed through reporters towards a looming building.

The remake center.

Allodia is a completely different person out here. In the train, she was polite and somewhat quiet, but out here she's barging reporters left, right and center. It's impressive for such a small, skinny woman.

Finally, Allodia pushes aside the last reporter, yelling "no comment" over the clamoring and clicking of cameras, and the remake center doors swing open. We rush inside, and I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding. All those brightly coloured people with their harsh perfumes and clashing clothes up in your face with their cameras and microphones. I don't like all the attention. Or the lack of breathable air.

"Wow, Allodia," I breathe, smiling at my escort as Lacey and Cotton slam the doors shut behind us, and Allodia returns the smile, blushing again.

"Well," she says, straightening her pencil skirt, "there's still much to do, so, Bailey, if you'll come with me."

I follow her, and Madras is lead away by Cotton, he casts me a final dark look before he's stepping into a lift, and then he's gone.

I become slightly less nervous now that he's gone. He sets me on edge. That's mean to say, I know, and I'm sure he has his reasons, but he's kinda rude, borderline cruel.

"Hey, Allodia," I say, my voice quiet, "I'm sure Madras didn't mean what he said, and I bet he's really a nice guy; he's just…"

"Don't worry about it, Bailey," she says, but her smile doesn't agree, so I take her hand and give it a quick squeeze before the doors to the glass elevator glide open.

I look down for a split second, and, holy _cow,_ we're high up.

"Yes, I wouldn't recommend looking down," Allodia says, and she leads me down a narrow corridor and to a large, white door.

"Just go through there, and your prep team will be with you shortly," she says, and then she gives a slightly awkward cough and adjusts her glasses, "you'll need to take these off," she gestures to my clothes.

_Oh._

"Do I have to?"

"Afraid so, dear. Now, off you go, and I'll see you after the chariot rides."

And, just like that, she's gone, and I'm alone before the large doors. I hesitate for a second before pushing them open and stepping inside.

Linebreak.

I stand, with my eyes closed, as my stylist, Mercury, slips my outfit over my head. The material is soft against my sore skin, thanks to all the washing and scrubbing and waxing, but it's extremely heavy. It pulls my shoulders down a little, but Mercury readjusts it and I can stand straight again.

I hear Maxine, Valentina and Cassius squealing, clearly pleased with themselves, and I suddenly become nervous. What if it's awful? Some years, Eight has been the worst outfit there, even compared to Seven, who have been trees for the past five or so years, and Twelve, who were literally lumps of coal last year. Hell, one year, the kids from Eight were pin cushions. I don't remember either of their names.

The last thing Mercury does is slip my ring back onto my index finger, and my other hand instantly begins toying with it.

_Smile._

That's what's etched into it; Father handed it to me in the last seconds of his goodbyes, just about holding his usual stiff upper lip, but then as he turned his back on me, he began sobbing.

I've never seen my father cry.

"Ok," Mercury says, "You can open your eyes, now."

I crack one eye open, nervously, but then they both widen as I gasp.

I look terrifying. Me. Short, average, boring Bailey Ventura- no, this isn't her. The girl in the mirror looks dangerous. Dark makeup around her eyes and on her cheeks shows off her bone structure, and her lips are black and glossy. The lack of muscle and curves is hidden by a bulky suit of armor, constructed entirely of needles, and torn chainmail sleeves revealing a silvery grey tunic underneath. A long, red cloak is fastened over her heart with a gold, round pin, with Eight's emblem engraved on it.

I stop admiring the girl when Mercury hands me a long, thin sword.

"The end's blunted off, and your armor will protect you if anyone gets any… ideas." He gives me a look and I instantly think of Madras, my heart thudding in my chest as my mouth becomes dry.

Would he really do that? It's not allowed, but as long as he doesn't _kill_ me, I'll still have to fight in the games. It could put me at a giant disadvantage-

But that's not going to happen, because not even Madras would do that. He wouldn't

_Smile._

I do.

I'm lead back out of the room, through the doors, and down the corridor, where Allodia gasps and claps her hands.

"Oh, Bailey," she gushes, "You look stunning! You're going to blow them away. Come come! We must go; we're running behind."

I'm rushed into the lift, my tread heavy because of my armor, and the nerves begin kicking in again as the lift whooshes down, down, down.

I'm going to be in the same room as the other tributes for the first time. Oh my god, what if they're like Madras?

_No,_ I tell myself, _there're always nice people. Remember the smiling girl form Eleven? Yeah, you should talk to her. She looks nice._

The elevator dings open, and I'm hurried out just in time for my cloak not to get caught in the door as it closes again. A funny smell hits me, not one I've ever smelt before, and I crinkle my nose. It's not the smoggy, chemical smell I'm used to smelling from Eight, it smells… natural.

From here, I can tell which chariot is ours; it's black and gold and draped in chainmail. Even the horses look in character, both completely black with large, golden headdresses.

I've never seen a horse before, and I've certainly never seen one in a hat.

It's then that I realise everyone is already talking to someone, well, mostly, there are a couple lone rangers, the boys from Nine and Eleven, the girls from Six, Seven and Three, along with a couple others, but everyone I'd thought of talking to are already chatting to someone.

Drat. Shyness _sucks._

I can always try tomorrow? Besides, now is a great time to check everyone out properly.

The careers are laughing at something, all in their impressive outfits, especially the kids from Two; they're dressed in black jumpsuits, which are encrusted, head to toe, in gems and stones of different colours, along with long, glittery capes and shiny skin.

Looks like we're not the only cloak kids here.

I'm halfway through identifying all the materials in the Three's 'cute scientist' outfits when a smooth voice booms through the speakers.

"Tributes, please mount your chariots."

Peacekeepers begin readying themselves to _encourage_ any stragglers, and kids begin splitting from their groups and making their way to their chariots.

I set a foot onto the chariot, testing its stability, and when I decide it won't fall out from under me, I raise my other foot.

And then there's a tugging sensation and I fall back off it with a sharp _yank._

I whip around to see Madras holding the tip of his sword down on my cloak, grinning at me in his own armor, and he steps up, obnoxiously taking up more room than he needs.

"Hurry along, Bailey," he coos, his smile sour, "those peacekeepers don't look too happy that you're being a slowpoke."

I step up, squeezing into the little space left, and attempt to shoulder him out of the way, but he barely budges.

"Temper, temper."

He is so _infuriating_, and people don't infuriate me.

"Leave me alone, you… ass."

I feel bad the moment I say it, but he smirks, and out of the corner of my eye, I see there's a look in his eyes.

_Victory._

* * *

**Bailey: Smile AKA Madras is an asshat.**


	12. Canis: Time Bomb

**Hey, hey, hey! Look who it is! Uh, I don't have much to say today. This one's a bit shorter than usual; sorry about that, there was just less to cover. I'm going to start putting the tribute's name, age and district at the start of their chapter, just because age may become a bit hard to slip into the actual chapter. So, anyway, to the chariots! *makes whooshing noise as transition begins*.**

* * *

**Canis Shale, District Two, 18.**

I still don't understand why Zell volunteered. She's giggly, bouncy and only reaches my chest, not to mention she seems to be half puppy, half sunshine. I've heard about her in the training center, and apparently she _can_ wield a weapon pretty damn well, but whether or not she can actually kill someone? That's a whole other story. She seems way too _adorable._

She grins at me as our chariot begins to move, and it takes me a moment before I return it. I think the idea with this outfit was something like 'intimidating' or 'dark', but the vibe Zell is giving off is 'sparkly unicorn'. She seems to have a thing for her cloak, as she swishes it about every few seconds, grinning as the glitter sparkles under the light.

"C'mon, twinkle toes," Zell sings, nudging my foot, which is indeed clad in a sparkly boot, "time to _shine!_"

I groan as does jazz hands, but then I plaster a winning smile on my face as the crowd roars. I don't know if she's even trying to be annoying, but she's slowly fraying my- already _very_ short- patience.

I constantly watch Zell out of the corner of my eye, trying to figure her out. What's her angle? Is she really like this? Maybe she's actually ruthless, or maybe she'll be totally pathetic in the arena. I'll kill her if she is, and it's not like there's anyone back in Two who'll miss her; she said so herself, smiling sweetly as she toyed with her food.

_Maybe she is nuts. _

_Maybe she isn't._

_I don't know._

I wink at the crowds, getting screams and flowers from the hysterical Capitolites, and Zell squeals approvingly as I hold one of the roses between my teeth. I might not know what Zell's strategy is, but I know mine. Oh God, I wonder what Hibernia thinks of all this.

_I'll always support you, so go out there and show 'em what you got._

I'm not sure if this is what she meant.

I continue grinning at the crowds, and Zell has an ear splitting smile on her face, waving and jumping. She's making the chariot judder, and if she didn't have a vice-like grip on the chariot with her other hand, I'm pretty sure she would've fallen out by now.

Suddenly, there's a sound that's like a combination of metal scraping on metal and a lion's roar behind us, I think it's the sound of an engine, and the crowd goes nuts. It must be the Six kids. I can't turn around; Galahad told me to act indifferent around the other tributes, like they're beneath me. I'm not going to refuse the advice of one of our victors.

Someone in the crowd screams my name, and suddenly a small bouquet of flowers is pelted at my face. I barely catch it before the roses hit me smack in the nose, and I smile and try to act like I didn't almost fall out; my grip on the chariot tightens a bit more.

As we pass by yet another row of blazing torches, I tug on the neck of my bodysuit with a spare finger; this costume is so damn _tight,_ it feels like it's strangling me. I sigh through the rose still clamped between my teeth as the costume just snaps back in place when I let it go.

The chariots reach the end of the route, and begin circling around in a ring in front of the Presidents Mansion. Our chariot neatly stops besides the Ones, who's name's I've forgotten already, and the Threes pull up on my other side. The crazy twelve year old volunteer is beaming at the audience, perfectly at ease, whereas the girl looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Finally, the last chariot pulls up, and President Snow steps into view with perfect timing. He must be cued; there's no way he could do it_ that_ smoothly.

The speech begins, and I pretend to listen, but instead my eyes fall on the Six kids, who's costumes caused all that ruckus. They're dressed in black unitards- skimpy and borderline nudity seems to be the trend this year- and their skin is smeared with grease and dark makeup. The unitards are dotted with interlocking cogs, and they have a set of lights on their heads; even from here I can see the speakers in them.

Clever, _very_ clever on their stylists part. The costume itself isn't that remarkable, but the speakers draw all attention and instantly make them ten times more impressive.

Zell seems to notice too, because she swishes her cape again, and grins when she gets some cheers.

Not many of the other costumes are that eye catching; the rest of the Careers, the Eights in their suits of armor and the Eleven with their fruit bikinis are the only other particularly impressive costumes. Ten stands out because their outfits are so _awful,_ with gaudy, purple and green plaid shirts with glittery overalls, and the girl's wearing a pair of beaded gloves, which reach up to her elbows. Seven are trees again, no surprise there.

The blast of the anthem almost has me out of the chariot again, and Zell barely contains her laughter as I compose myself.

"Don't say anything," I mutter, because if she makes one more _goddamned _comment, I will push her out of this chariot in front of someone's horse.

She smirks, and she opens her mouth to say something anyway.

"_Don't_."

Her smirk remains, but she closes her mouth and looks ahead just as we begin moving again. My nails are digging into the chariot with frustration, but I resume my smile as we make a final circle of the city center, and then follow the Ones into the training center.

The chariot stops, and we're signaled that we can get out, so I spit out the rose, jump out and make my way over to the two kids currently removing their large, gold crowns. The guy looks up, giving me a calm smile, and wipes some body paint off of his hand before extending it to me.

"Alistair Lennox, District One. You're Canis, correct?"

I nod, somewhat dumbstruck. He sounds so formal, and he holds himself almost regally, and I must admit he's another case of _why are you here? _He's not exactly muscular looking; in fact, he looks a little delicate.

"And I'm Elouise," the girl says, not offering her hand, but instead tightly folding her arms, and she gives me a flat smile. Now_ she_ looks more like your typical career: muscled and tough looking, with hard eyes and a _fight me_ stance.

"He says he's called Alistair, but I call him Marshmallow."

"Elouise, no-"

"Feel free to adopt this nickname if you want." Another flat smile from Elouise.

"Please don't," Alistair says, his face red, and instantly his calmness is gone, replaced by an unhealthy dose of awkward.

_Yeah, what are you doing here?_

"Well," Zell says, having suddenly appeared beside me, "I'm Zell, call me whatever, and this is silent but deadly, like the fart, or you could call him twinkle toes," she says, pointing to me.

I put my head in my hands in despair as Elouise laughs.

"Well, Twinkle Toes, meet Marshmallow; Marshmallow, meet Twinkle Toes."

Alistair gives me an awkward smile, and I return it as the two girls roar with laughter, clearly finding themselves hilarious.

The Four kids make their way over, dressed in nothing more than some rather conveniently knotted rope, and the girl gives a half smile while the guy remains emotionless.

"Lynne and Dan," Lynne says, brushing some hair out of her face. They look like your typical Four careers, and Dan flexes his hands by his sides, which, I notice, look kinda powdery. Is it makeup?

I don't say much as the others chat amongst themselves; the loudest being Zell and Elouise, and occasionally I share an exasperated look with Alistair whenever our nicknames are brought up.

There's a sharp tap on my shoulder, and I turn to face our escort, Samhain, who silently beckons us away, his expression stern as usual.

Zell sighs dramatically, "I guess it's time for us to go. See you guys tomorrow?"

Everyone nods, and I notice that Elouise takes a step towards Al as she does so, their hands almost touching.

Huh.

We walk back to the lifts, and I'm so looking forward to getting some time away from Zell again that I almost don't hear her speak to me.

"Hey, Twinkle Toes-"

"Zell, I swear to God if you call me that again, punishments be damned, I will slit your throat before we step foot in that arena."

Zell simply laughs and skips ahead of me, pressing the button to open the lift doors, and smiles sweetly at me as I get in next to her.

Even if she's not dangerous, she's certainly annoying. Very annoying.

Our escort gives us a flat stare as the door shuts behind him, and instantly the lift rises, the people growing smaller beneath us. Samhain is supposedly one of the best escorts in the history of the Hunger Games, helping the mentors bring home over seven victors, and he looks unimpressed with us. That's bad.

The lift opens again on floor two, and Samhain keeps his stare on me as Zell prances away, humming as she goes, and I can only hold his gaze for a moment before leaving the lift.

"She's winding you up on purpose, you know."

"Yes, I had noticed, Captain Obvious."

"And you're letting her do it."

"I'm short tempered."

"No, you're a time bomb," Samhain spits, a hand coming down on my shoulder and turning me to face him. He's pretty fucking strong, for a Capitolite, and he's a few inches taller than me, making him like a giant.

"If you want to last one _second_ in that arena," Samhain hisses into my ear, "you've got to learn to block her out. She's nothing more than another tribute in the Games, and you're going to let her step in the way of victory?"

"Why are you helping me so much? You're meant to be helping both of us."

Samhain takes a step back and looks me up and down.

"I am, but you're being stupid and she knows it, and, to be honest, I don't exactly see her winning. Even with this 'training' she and your mentors claim she has, she's five foot nothing and has a thing for shiny stuff. I don't exactly see her taking out the Four boy, do you?"

I shake my head, and Samhain takes off down the corridor.

"C'mon, twinkle toes, time for dinner. It's time to test your restraint."


	13. Talia: One Big Happy Family

**Yellow, guys. Another shorter chapter, here. I feel an appropriate song for this chapter is 'Young Volcanoes' by Fall Out Boys; I'm not sure why, I think it just matches the mood of these guys. To the training center! *makes whooshing sound as transition begins* (are you guys fed up of that?)**

* * *

**Talia, District Twelve, 12.**

Fritz strides across the gym with me and Apollo in tow towards the Seven girl, who is currently rubbing her hands together determinedly as she looks up the trunk of the fake tree she's about to scale.

"Hello,"

The girl jumps about a foot in the air, whipping around to face us as a scowl settles on her face.

"…Hi."

"So, what you doing?" Fritz asks, trying a little too hard to look nonchalant.

"I'm, uh… about to climb a tree, as you can probably tell."

"I had figured," Fritz smiles at her, but she simply turns back to the tree, huffs, and launches herself at it, shimming up the trunk until she reaches a low branch. She swings her legs over the side, looking down at us, and begins biting her lip.

"Something wrong?" I ask, tilting my head as the girl opens and closes her mouth, as if she wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"No, it's just…" the girl sighs, "I wasn't really planning on allying, for now, but I'll… I'll let you know if I change my mind."

"Oh," Fritz says, looking defeated, and then he tries giving her puppy eyes, but she's already making her way further up the tree.

"Well that failed," Apollo mumbles, pushing his hair out of his eyes again.

"Spectacularly," I agree.

"You win some, you lose some," Fritz says defensively, shrugging, and he begins making his way over to the climbing instructor.

"That's what you said about Zara."

"And the camouflage section."

"And-"

"Yeah, yeah, like I said, you win some, you lose some. How about tree climbing? Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

"Yeah," Apollo says, but he doesn't sound too sure.

The instructor is looking up the tree as we approach, she casts us a quick smile as she fiddles with a pulley, and somewhere, up high in the fake branches, there's a shout of "I did it!"

"Great," the instructor calls back up, "now you just have to get back down again."

"…Oh."

I laugh, squinting against the fluorescent lights as I try to spot who the voice belongs to.

"Uh… how do I get down?"

The instructor opens her mouth to explain, but is cut off by the voice.

"Hang on, I just… have to put… my foot-"

There's a crashing sound, and Apollo and I wince as the person is caught by their harness, making an 'oof' sound.

"I'm ok, I'm ok."

"Glad to hear it," the instructor calls, her eyes flicking between the branches and the person's pulley system.

"I think I've got it."

About ten seconds of scrabbling and muttering later, the person finally comes within eyesight, and I recognise the tiny, blonde figure instantly.

It's the volunteer from Three.

He clumsily makes the final leap, his harness catching him inches from the ground as he grins at us, slowly spinning as the instructor lowers him to the ground.

"Hi, I'm Link."

I wave at him, uncertainly, and he returns it, grinning a set of crooked teeth and dimples. Fritz had passed him off as nuts the moment he volunteered, but he looks pretty sane.

"Hey," Fritz says, and we watch as Link is unclipped from his harness and he walks- no, _marches_\- over to us, his chest puffed out and his chin held high.

"Pleasure to meet you," Link says, sticking a hand out to each of us in turn, and Fritz mutters something under his breath as we shake his clammy hand.

"So," Link says, casually putting his hands in his pockets, "what're you guys up to?"

"This 'n that," Apollo responds, his accent so different and thick compared to Link's, Apollo's accent sounds a bit like warmth and summer, while Link's accent makes his voice sound like water running through a stream. I don't know what my accent sounds like; I didn't really notice I had one. Coal dust, maybe.

"Could I join you in 'this 'n that'?"

Apollo and I instantly look to Fritz, who looks the boy up and down, and then shrugs.

"You got any skills?"

"Slingshots, but I don't exactly seeing that taking down one of them," Link points to the careers, who are currently peeing themselves laughing as the Eleven boy collapses under the weight he had propped on his shoulders.

"Rude," Fritz mutters, and the Eleven boy casts them a final dark look before storming off.

It takes me a moment to realise I saw anything.

"Hey," my tone is hushed, "look at his hands,"

"Which one?" Fritz asks, and he and Apollo turn their heads.

"Don't make it so obvious," Link hisses, and they quickly turn back around.

"The Four boy," I mumble, trying to act like nothing happened, but the careers don't seem to have noticed, so the three quickly turn their heads.

"Well shit, would you look at that," Fritz mutters, and they all turn back around as the serious looking Two boy notices us staring.

"I didn't see it," Apollo says, and he quickly turns again.

"Oh," he squeaks, and I cast the Four boy a final glance, because it's one of those things where you don't _want_ to look, but you cant look away. He swings his sword around, turning to face us and I see the angry red scars snaking up his hands and wrists for a flash of a second, but then he's back to sparring with his district partner.

"The Ten girl's got scars on her arms, too," Link says, pointing to where the girls from Eight, Ten and Eleven are quietly chattering while trying to master snares. From here, the Ten girl- who's arms are, indeed, mottled with puncture like scars- seems to be picking it up quickest, with the Eight girl working very carefully and the Eleven girl seems to be struggling.

"Huh," Fritz mutters, and he glances at Link.

"We'll keep you around for now," he decides, and Link smiles, "and we'll see if you've got any use. Welcome to the team."

"Swell," Link grins, the dimples reappearing, "we'll be like one big, happy family."

* * *

Fritz sighs, defeated, as the scary looking Nine boy flat out rejects the idea of joining the alliance, muttering something about 'keeping the peace' as he skulks off, picking up a scythe and hacking at a dummy.

"Didn't really want him about anyway," Link says, matter-of-factly, "he doesn't exactly look stable."

"Neither do you," Fritz says, defensive, "you're a twelve year volunteer."

Link shrugs.

"Why _did_ you volunteer?" Apollo asks, his voice it's usual quiet self.

"Needed money for the family; things have been a bit… tight, lately," Link says, his tone serious and calculating, and I can tell a nerve has been struck.

"That was brave," I say, trying to lift his spirits, and Link smiles at me, his chest puffing out again.

"It was stupid, that's what it was," Fritz mutters, and his expression has become almost spiteful.

"Oh yeah?" Link's eyes narrow as he stands on his tip-toes, trying to become level with the taller boy, "I could kick your ass anytime."

"You wanna bet?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Guys," I say, stepping between them, "don't fight. We're supposed to be allies,

not enemies."

Fritz breaks eye contact with Link to smile at me, and he steps away, his fingers brushing over his healed lip. I think they used some Capitol medicine on it, because it looked pretty fresh on reaping day, but now it's healed completely.

"Sorry, Talia."

"Yeah, sorry Talia," Link parrots, and they both give me apologetic looks. It makes me feel grown up, like the way naughty kids look at their mom when they're caught rummaging through the kitchen.

"Right," I say, hands on my hips, "we should try something we haven't covered yet… any suggestions?"

Apollo raises a hand, and Fritz snorts at the gesture.

"We could try the quarter staffs. The careers aren't touching them."

"Good plan, team," Link states, "let's go. To the quarter staffs!"

He runs towards the station, full pelt, and Fritz rushes after him. Apollo and I give each other a look, and I roll my eyes as the two boys begin swinging at each other, only to be quickly broken up by a frantic looking instructor.

_"__We'll be like one big, happy family."_

Link was right about that; they're acting just like brothers, and Apollo and I are like the elder siblings, or maybe even the parents. The only ones with any sense.


	14. Zell: Full Of Surprises

**Why, hello my lovelies! I'm finally back! I could sit and make excuses, but I haven't really been in the greatest, most creative mood lately, and this chapter wasn't turning out well. I'm still not sure if I'm 100% happy with it, but ah well, keep moving forward, eh?**

**Vague implications, like, extremely vague.**

* * *

**Zell Jericho, District 2, 18.**

"Give me your hand."

Al gives me a wary look, his eyes switching between my hands. One is outstretched towards him; the other holds a knife.

"Aw, c'mon, spoilsport, it's a famous game in Two, and I happen to be a master. You won't die, I promise."

But you may lose a finger. Eh, what he doesn't know can't kill him… probably.

"Yeah," Elouise calls, momentarily pausing her swordfighting session with Lynne, "come on, Al, she's already done it to me and the others and we're all fine." She holds up her unstabbed fingers as proof.

Al closes his eyes, sighing through his nose.

"Fine."

He extends his hand, and I grasp it before he can call take backs, pinning it to the ground and splaying his fingers.

I begin stabbing the gaps between Al's fingers, and I can see him cringing in the corner of my eye as I already begin speeding up. I wasn't lying before when I said I am a master, however there're a couple scars on my fingers from where I've slipped in the past. I'll probably get in trouble if I do something bad, oh well.

The other careers come over to watch, and I can feel some of the nearby outer tributes watching too. Elouise leans over Al's shoulder, laughing at his terrified expression, whereas Lynne looks worried. I did almost nick her, and then Dan knocked my hand away and dragged his little girlfriend off to do knife throwing. He's probably the touchiest out of the careers, right after Twinkle Toes, but a lot more sarcastic than my grumpy district partner.

I reach the end of the game, the knife flying at a dangerous speed, and Al is tense, as if he expects me to slip.

Rude.

"There," I say, making the final stab, letting it land dangerously close to his middle finger, and Al sighs with relief. "Have a little more faith in me, little marshmallow."

Al sighs, but doesn't bother trying to correct me.

The careers go back to whatever they were doing, and I follow the Ones to the hand on hand combat station, where I notice the attention of the boy from Nine, Fray. He's glaring at us like he wants to set us on fire, the sword he's practicing with tight in his grip. I think he might spit at us, now that would be interesting. And by interesting I mean I'd like to see how quickly he could run when Twinkle Toes comes after him. I begin smirking as Fray decides he's finished glowering at us, and he goes back to trying to stab the dummy.

Yeah, not so scary now that we can all see that you're incompetent with a sword, are you?

Elouise and Al are going over hand on hand maneuvers, and they're starting to get boring, just standing there.

"You two dating or something?" I ask from my perch at the edge of the mats. Al's face gets all flustered, and for a moment Elouise's face flashes, but then she grins and ruffles Al's hair.

"Sure we are, aren't we?"

Al begins stuttering to get an answer out, and Elouise laughs.

From what I've gathered, Al seems to be quite smitten for his district partner, and that's the sole reason I'm keeping him around, because I want to see his face when Elouise pulls the rug from under him with a 'syke bitch'.

The Ones continue practicing, and Fray's district partner, Zara, makes her way over, smiling at us as an instructor makes their way over to her.

"Hello," she says quietly, her smile directed at me, and I grin back, skipping over to her side.

"Zell Jericho, District Two."

"I know," Zara says, still smiling, "I'm Zara Oatfield, District Nine."

"Pleasure to meet you," I say, returning the grin, and Zara seems to relax somewhat, like she was waiting to see if I'd bite her head off.

"You were the one who fell off the obstacle course earlier, weren't you?"

The smile on her face falters slightly, and her freckled cheeks flush as she nods, embarrassed.

"Yeah, that would be me, and were you the one who fell to the floor laughing?"

I chuckle, brushing a hair out of my face- would've been cooler if I could've done it with a dagger, but oh well- and shrug apologetically at Zara.

"Maybe, sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it."

The instructor catches Zara's attention again, and begins showing her basic punches and defense moves. I join in, just for the hell of it, and because I feel like prying some stuff from Zara.

For later use, of course.

We begin practicing punches, and across from us Elouise and Al are getting into their stances, having been paired up with instructors to practice sparring.

"Good luck, Marshmallow," I call, and Al flushes as he brings his fists up.

"Marshmallow?" Zara asks, and her shoulders shake with giggles as she shoots her hand out in a punch. I notice that she's significantly less bony than her district partner, and almost as tall; she must be from the richer end of Nine, then.

"That's what Elouise calls him. They knew each other back in One," I turn to Elouise, who's just about to start sparring, "isn't that right, Elouise?"

She doesn't respond as she launches at the instructor, her right hook connecting with the instructors forearm as they just defend their head in time.

"So," I casually say, turning my attention back to the ginger girl by my side, "what's up with your district partner? He looked like he was gonna blow steam from his ears or something."

"Honestly, I have no idea," Zara admits, casting Fray a look, "but he's constantly going on about 'keeping the peace' or some rubbish like that."

I snort, so he's one of _those_ kids.

"So what about you," I ask, "what's your deal?"

Zara shrugs, "what do you want to know?"

"Oh, I dunno, stuff about you, your family, stuff like that."

And so she does, she tells me about her parents, her annoying brothers, her loving nana and so on. She tells me about her airhead friend, birds, and about Nine, and to throw off suspicion, I tell her about the training center, Scipio, and how much I love dogs, which strays into a in depth conversation about dogs and how they're possibly the greatest creatures to walk this earth.

I almost enjoy talking to her- she's funny- but I remind myself I'm not trying to make friends. I'm collecting information to use against her later.

And she could be doing the same thing.

Ah well.

Suddenly, there's a thud, and I look over to where the Ones are still sparring, and my fists almost drop in surprise at what I see.

The instructor is on the floor, and his arm is still twisted behind him in Al's grip.

_Jesus Christ riding a bike._

Elouise looks surprised as well, and Zara lets out a low whistle as Al finally lets the guy go, shaking off his muscles as he helps the man up. The serious expression is replaced with exhaustion as Elouise slaps him on the back.

"Wow, Little Marshmallow, didn't know you could do _that_."

Zara laughs, but I pick up on the undertone in Elouise's voice instantly.

She feels threatened.

* * *

I sit, slumped and killing my posture, and stare at my mentor, Galahad, who sighs for the millionth time.

"I doubt it's an act," I pipe up, twiddling my thumbs.

"It can't be," Galahad agrees, "you said even Elouise looked surprised, which means he probably doesn't go flipping instructors over his shoulders often." He raises and eyebrow, "but then again, you've had everyone at the training center fooled for years."

"Yeah, but Elouise _knows _Al, and it seems not much gets past that girl."

Galahad just sighs, and I slump slightly further into my seat, thoroughly bored with the conversation. Canis and his mentor, Charitina, are late for dinner, and Samhain looks like he might stab someone. Not sure why, he just does. Constantly.

"No matter, Elouise could still kill him easily," I conclude, staring at my cutlery, and I wonder if it'd be sharp enough to stab someone with it. Probably, I mean, this is much higher quality than the blunted knives and forks I was given at the training center.

The door suddenly slides open, and beloved Twinkle Toes makes his grand entrance, stomping past us and sitting with an unceremonious thunk in his seat, and Charitina gracefully takes her place next to Galahad. She doesn't make eye contact with me, and I can see the bruises on her neck that she's mostly concealed with her hair. Heh. It barely took thirty seconds to get her to spill Canis's strategies, and it was fun, so I'm certainly not complaining, however I doubt it'll happen again; she knows not to let me lead her into a darkened room now. Darn.

I grin at Charitina as they begin serving up dinner, and Galahad gives me a slightly confused look, but then shrugs and starts eating his starter.

"So," Twinkle Toes' mentor suddenly says, still not looking at me, "how did training go?"

"Oh, it was grand," I drawl, grinning for no real reason, "we had a_ blast_, didn't we Twinkle Toes?"

Canis looks like he's considering snapping my neck, and I almost laugh at the idea. I'd love to see him try.

"Oh yeah, Zell was having a whale of a time," Canis grumbles, "I bet if she tried to take anything even remotely seriously, she might explode."

"True," I agree, spearing my food repeatedly and mushing the teeny tomatoes with the back of my fork.

Galahad chuckles, and even Charitina's lips quirk, and I don't think I've seen her smile once.

"But in all seriousness, we did what you told us to, well, _I_ did, but who knows what the hell Zell was up to half the time."

"Strategising."

"Of course," my district partner says, and we actually exchange a smirk. Well, Twinkle Toes, maybe you aren't such a misery guts, after all? Maybe you could actually be a laugh?

It seems today is full of surprises.

Our mentors then ask us about our findings on our alliance. Canis learnt that Lynne was a healer in Four, and Dan lived with his aunt and his two sisters- although the causes of the scars is still unkown- and the two seem to be bonding. Canis is pretty sure at least one of them is crushing on the other. They make me gag, to be honest, with this lovey dovey thing they seem to be doing.

"What about the Ones? Learn anything about them?"

Galahad and I explain what happened during training, and Charitina quickly dismisses it as unimportant. Hand on hand won't save him when the careers turn on each other.

"That's the thing, though," Twinkle toes interrupts his mentor, "Elouise seems to be protecting him, or at least she's been asked to."

"Doesn't she work for them or something?"

The table is quiet for a second as everyone clicks it into place.

"Well then," Twinkle toes states, and Samhain rolls his eyes at the melodramatic silence that follows.

"I thought it was obvious."

"Ah, shut it, Samhain, if it was so obvious, why didn't you say something sooner?" Twinkle Toes snaps, challenging our escort's cold glare. Samhain definitely looks like he wants to stab someone now.

Oh, this is going to be good.

"Because I figured you weren't all such dunces; apparently I was wrong."

Another beat of silence, and that combined with the look on Samhain and Twinkle Toes' faces causes me to start snickering, which then turns into howls of laughter.

"You guys-" More laughter, "-You all take yourself so seriously and-"

I don't finish, because I fall out of my chair and land on the floor with a thud, still laughing. Clearly, no one else finds it that funny, because they all just stare at me with unamused expressions.

Twinkle Toes then excuses himself, and Samhain looks thoroughly done with all of us, because he leaves too, leaving me with our mentors, who exchange a look as they watch me rolling on the floor.

"Is this a regular occurrence with you?"

I manage to get a decent breath in to answer a squeaky 'yes', and then I start laughing again.

Galahad and Charitina exchange another look, and by some sort of unsaid agreement, walk around the table and pick me up off the floor, half leading, half dragging me to my room.

This Hunger Games business is turning out to be even better than expected.


	15. Madras: Crazy

**Why hello, there. This subplot excites me immensely, you have no idea. Also, warnings for Madras' home life being a little… well, bad. There won't be anything explicit, for now, but Bad Stuff will be implied. You have been warned.**

**To the gym! *makes whooshing sound as transition begins.***

* * *

**Madras Kemp-Wigan, District 8, 17.**

It took under forty-eight hours to break Bailey. It took less than that to break Malak from Seven. It took mere minutes to break Hypatia from the Three and Cornmeal from Eleven. They were too easy, and most didn't even bother with the 'nice' act, instead they were hostile and cold, snapping at me almost instantly. At least they're honest, unlike Bailey, who insisted on smiling and being friendly, but even she dropped her act eventually.

I lazily toss a blunt knife from hand to hand, whistling as I chose whom to 'talk' to next. Some of the careers seem to be bickering over something, with the girl from Two grinning excitedly, watching the argument like a tennis match. She's weird; I can't seem to spot any weaknesses, not normal ones anyway, she doesn't show doubt or fear or jealousy or anything like that. Weirdo.

There are a couple alliances forming, and they're all preoccupied with each other, so I don't bother talking to them, leaving just the lone rangers left to talk to, and most of them are glumly staring at everyone else or awkwardly talking to someone at the same station as them. One of them even spoke to the careers yesterday; she's kept her distance since then, but she and the career girls occasionally exchange a look of something other than loathing.

Oh, and then there's the other nutters, the creepy guy from Six shadowing Malak- she seems to be the life of the party here, gaining people's attention. I'll admit, she's pretty, but they're always the worst people- and then there's Cornmeal, where do I start on _him?_ Completely off his rocker, and with an ego and some 'I'm superior' shebang going on, it's hilarious and infuriating at the same time. And then there's me. I know I'm not completely nuts- I _know_ it- but mom seems to think otherwise-

Shut up.

I let the knife fall to the floor, landing between my feet, and I slope off. No matter how far away from her I get, she's constantly there in the back of my head, like that annoying song that you hate, but drills away in the back of your mind like a little… well, drill… or something.

_My son is not crazy. I can fix him. _

I let my feet carry me; I don't really care where, until I reach the station with a nice selection of axes. The instructor steps forward- probably to help or something- and looks like he wants to say something when I pick up one of the biggest axes. Yes, I know I'm short and skinny, don't rub it in.

I ignore him further as I swing the axe at the dummy, and it lodges in the dummy's side, because- shut up- I couldn't lift it very high. It's heavier than it looks, but I refuse the offer for a smaller one when the instructor asks.

I glare at the grey dummy, with its stupid little targets on its stupid little head and I swing again, harder, and it hits with a nice _thunk_ into its ribcage.

As I continue hacking at it, and the features begin to change. Faceless grey is replaced by pale skin, black hair; cold, emotionless eyes with that cruel glare, pursed lips and that stupid, stupid, _stupid _look of power and smugness when I agree just to make her leave. Me. _Alone_-

I almost scream as I swing the axe again, spinning to build momentum and letting it lodge into the dummy's head. I release my grip on the axe; leaving it there and giving it a strong kick in the gut, and the torso become disconnected from the legs. High quality, my ass. It's probably some self-esteem thing, like _'Congratulations! You can decapitate a dummy, now go do it in real life to a real person!'_

I cast the instructor a dark look, wiping my sweaty hands on my trousers, and he refuses to meet my gaze as I finally walk away, cracking my knuckles out of habit.

I look up at the gamemakers, all sat like majestic rulers in their fancy purple robes, and I spot the blue haired woman instantly, Zipporah Elphinstone: psycho Head Gamemaker and creator of some of the most nightmarish mutts. Even I can admit the creepy wolf-boar-demon things with the red eyes gave me the heebie jeebies. She's laughing with a guy with 'tanned' skin, slicked back, crimson hair and an obnoxious pair of sunglasses - Who wears sunglasses indoors? - but there's something off about Zipporah that seems different from the woman I saw last year. She looks tense, older somehow, and she occasionally casts a look around the other gamemakers.

She's nervous about something, and the worried glances she casts towards random corners of the room and the awkward tugging of clothes gives it away.

She thinks she's being watched.

I'll remember that for later.

I think the gamemakers notice me staring, because one of them makes an almost unnoticeable gesture to the peacekeepers, and I can feel their eyes on me. Yeah, don't feel like getting on the wrong side of those guys. I keep on moving.

The boy from Seven, Zeak, is talking to Hypatia, miss Grumpiness herself, and she casts me a flat look as I walk over to the first aid station. When I sit down between them, making it obvious I'm not leaving, Hypatia just gives Zee a final curt 'bye' and abruptly stands, leaving her shoddy bandages behind.

I turn to Zeak, who's staring at me with big eyes, and give him a flat smile.

"Madras Kemp-Wigan. Yes, I was born like this. No, it can't be cured. Yes, my eyes really are this colour, and don't bother with the names; I've heard them all before."

He blinks as I stick my hand out to shake, and he eventually takes my hand. His palm is slightly clammy. Eww.

Zeak stares at me for a moment, dumbly opening and closing his mouth but not actually saying anything. _Come on, man, just say whatever you want to say, dammit._

"I suppose… I suppose you're going to ask about why my brother stepped me forwards?"

"Nah," I say, shrugging, "I've already got an idea: self preservation and some kind of ideology that you're a superhero or invicible of sorts."

Zeak blinks, surprised, and then a slight smile tugs the corners of his lips.

"At least I don't have to explain for the thousandth time."

I go along with it, smiling and even chuckling a little, and Zeak's face flushes ever so slightly, pink just showing against his brown skin. I internally give an evil chuckle, and then I scoot slightly closer to him, looking at the fake leg he's bandaging. Zeak tenses, and the internal chuckling turns into cackling.

"That bandaging's a bit loose," I say, pointing, and I check his reaction. As I suspected, he looks defeated, but not surprised, and he doesn't meet my eyes as he unwraps the bandage and starts over.

Self esteem issues: Check.

"You never introduced yourself, you know," I point out, and Zeak's entire face seems to change colour. This is so fun, I don't think I want to even bother breaking him straight away; I'm going to keep him around.

"Zeak Shajirah, from District Seven, but you can call me Zee - if you want, that is…"

His voice trails off, and I barely contain the grin that threatens to spread across my face. This is too good. He's so self conscious and awkward.

Instead of grinning like a maniac, I manage to control my expression until it turns into a pleasant smile.

"We should try the maze."

Zee gives it a funny look, and then turns to face me again, his face uncomfortably close because of all the shuffling closer in my low-key flirting I did.

"Why?"

I sigh, giving Zee a pitying look, and look away innocently, pretending to watch the girl from Six at the camouflage station.

"Madras, why should we go to the maze? Madras, please answer; you can't just leave me hanging like that."

Despite myself, I grin slightly, but I fight it off as I sigh again and turn back around.

"Well, if you'd been _paying attention _-" Zee's blush intensifies. Does he do anything but blush? " - You'd see the lack of outdoor survival skill stations and the fact that there's not one, but _three_ stations on navigation. Not to mention the fact that there is not a single station on cleaning water - which you would think would be one of the most important stations - I don't know about you, but I thought it was pretty obvious."

Zee gapes for a moment, and then looks at the maze again.

"But what about the tree climbing and the plant identification, and-?"

"Well, they can't make it_ that_ obvious, can they?" I shake my head again, "Zipporah herself said in that interview, about a week before the reaping, that these games would be about smarts and mental skills just as much as they would be about physical skills-" I poke at his bicep, which is much more toned than mine, "-I'd keep me around if I were you."

Zee contemplates this for a second, the violent blush in his face beginning to fade a little, and finally he nods, standing and stretching his legs out.

"Yeah, sure. Besides, can't hurt getting a little practice, can it?"

* * *

I'm getting closer, I can tell. I nip around a corner and stare at the three-way passage ahead of me. This maze is pretty impressive; it's not just the usual blocky layout, but it has curved walls and the long, semi-dark corridors remind me more of my veins - dark blue compared to my stupidly pale skin - than a typical maze. Zipporah has outdone herself this year.

"Madras, keep up; I swear we've been down here already."

I wave a dismissive hand, trying not to look out of breath as I push my glasses up my nose and catch up with Zee. While I'm definitely smarter, he has much more endurance and speed than me, and my shorter legs struggle to keep up. Shut up.

"It's probably just a psychology thing, they're trying to make us go back or something. Look, I know we're getting closer."

Zee just sighs and follows me as I take a sharp turn right. There's a fifty-meter stretch, where it opens up into a large square shaped room. It's the center of the maze.

I turn to Zee, grinning triumphantly.

"I_ told_ you! I told you we would do it; I totally got us through that maze and-"

I throw my arms up, but only about half of my joy comes from reaching the center, the rest comes from the look on Zee's face when I say that_ I_ got us through the maze.

He manages to grin at me, and suddenly the exhaustion of the run kicks in and I double over, my breathing heavy as I regain my breath.

"How… long did we… _run _for? Felt like fu… fucking forever."

Zee looks surprised at me swearing – I must've refrained beforehand - and then shrugs, looking up as the instructor lowers the ladder and we're told to get out.

That's another cool thing about the maze: it's under the floor of the gym, only accessible via a set of stairs into the start of the maze and the hatch in the center. The instructors can see you the whole time, thanks to some teeny tiny cameras, and they must have some way of getting kids out if they get hopelessly lost.

Once the hatch is closed behind us, I turn to the instructor, and I feel myself getting almost excited as the woman smiles at her stopwatch.

"Nine minutes and forty nine seconds. That's the fastest time so far."

"Hell yeah!" I roar, and I raise my hand for Zee to high-five. He hesitantly returns it, smiling bashfully, and I can feel the eyes of the other kids on us as I stride away, feeling proud.

It takes a few minutes before I fully calm down and realise how stupid I must look, so I drag Zee off to a maps station to get me out of people's attention; we spend about thirty seconds pouring over the maps - mazes again, and I'm pretty certain that that's what the arena is, now – before I speak up.

"You run a lot in Seven? Is that a thing over there?"

Zee tips back his head and gives a bark of laughter, and for once it's me that feels I'm being mocked instead of the other way around.

"Nah, well, we do track and stuff in sport, but not really, no. Why? Does everyone spend all their time in Eight sewing?"

"Har Har, very funny. I do _science_, and I do _not _sitting about making pretty little dresses for the Capitol, thank you very much."

Crap, I'm getting touchy. It could throw him off? I don't know, but I can't let him see he's getting to me.

"Are you the fastest back in Seven? You were pretty quick in there."

Zee shakes his head, and then launches into a story about how his friend, Alder, antagonised a crazy wild dog or something, and managed to outrun it for about a hundred meters before the dog managed to catch up and he had to climb a tree. He was there all night before the dog lost interest, apparently. I don't fail to notice the expression he gets on his face when he talks about Alder, and the realisation is almost too good.

Someone has a little crush.

Before I can delve further, we're disbanded for the day, and I crack my knuckles again before rising, facing my taller companion.

"Allies?" I ask, giving him my best winning smile, and it grows further until my cheeks burn when he nods, smiling back at me.

"Sure. See you tomorrow, Madras."

"You too, Zee."

He gives me a final wave before rushing off, getting in the lift with his district partner, and I finally let my grin become more menacing.

Step one: Complete.


	16. Zara: Double Crosser

**Hello, hello, hello. This one's quite short, but I just wanted to get it over and done with, but I love these two just as much as everyone else. I promise. ^_^**

* * *

**Zara Oatfield, District 9, 14.**

"Talking to them was a stupid idea, you know that, right?"

Oh my God, I'm _done_ with my mentor. Yes, I _do_ know, but I have this condition of being unable to be rude to others, no matter how much I despise them, and as a result I'm friendly to everyone. It's _very_ tragic.

"First you tell me not allying is a bad idea, and then you tell me talking to people is a bad idea. I'm not really sure what I'm meant to do."

Sonoma just sighs, rubbing her temples and probably trying to convince herself not to slap me. It happened once, on the train, when I accidently spilt my drink on her. I think the games did something to her temper.

"Zara, when I said talk to people, I meant someone who wouldn't think twice about stabbing you in the back, both literally and figuratively speaking."

I just sigh, and my mentor and I glare at each other. Well, she glares at me, and I return a vacant stare. It's the closest thing I have to a death stare.

Suddenly, Fray stomps into the room, giving us his usual, angry look, and then slumps down in the rubbery looking armchair, as far away from us as possible. I really don't know what his deal is, but he seems to be trying to avoid everyone – including his own mentor – as much as possible. He constantly looks somewhat bothered or troubled, like there's something deep in that head of his that's eating away at him, and he constantly shoots dark looks towards the careers and the Capitolites, like they disgust him. Sometimes I forget he's only fifteen, just a year older than me.

"You know what?" Sonoma sighs, she must be done with me, "I'm going to go get a drink; you two knock yourselves out, literally for all I care," and with that she slopes out, grumbling under her breath.

There's a beat of silence before I grab the bowl of ornate candy from the table, grab the television remote, and slump back into my seat. Fray glances my way as I unwrap a pink candy and pop it in my mouth. Strawberry, my favourite.

I can still feel Fray's eyes on me. Is he expecting me to _give_ him one? Not today, man, these are all _mine_, dammit.

I flick through the channels, one gaudy television host to the next, all talking about something different: food, weather, fashion, celebrities, the Games.

One station catches my eye, and I unwrap another candy – a peculiar shade of blue - as the panel of hosts chatter amongst themselves.

"Oh, and did you see the District Eight outfits? Weren't they just stunning?"

A woman with cherry red hair pipes up next, "Such powerful looking tributes? Even little Bailey, look at her!"

It strikes me that they call her little; she's my age, and I certainly wouldn't call myself 'little'. Her district partners barely an inch taller than her.

The hosts babble on for a while longer, and I almost lose interest, but then our picture appears on screen.

"District Nine was interesting, wasn't it?"

"Oh yeah," a woman, who's skin is dyed purple, butts in, "much better than last year, don't you think?"

Fray's scowl deepens; he looks almost murderous, but I want to see what they have to say about me.

"Very fierce looking, aren't they?"

Suddenly, a clip of us fills the screen, and I see what they mean. _Fray _looks fierce, with his hand tightly around the prop spear they gave him, and a look of disgusted anger on his face, much like the look he's got now, actually.

I, however, am far from it. I look slightly nervous in my straw getup, but there's a bright smile on my face, which the TV hosts take note of. They say I look like a sunbeam. Everyone is something, the One boy is aristocratic looking, Zell is magical, the Three kids look adorable. Dangerous, powerful, majestic, spiritual, and so on, but – and here's the funny part – it actually works; boring costumes get 'ooh's and 'ah's, and, just like that, we're all made memorable.

Nicely done.

It seems, however, that Fray doesn't agree.

"Fucking Capitol. I'll kill them all if I have to."

I blink at him, surprised, because one: that's the most he's spoken in one go since he's gotten here, and two: damn, he needs to take a chill pill.

"Why?"

"Because they're a city of ruthless dictators who oppress the lower class, let us starve and force twenty four children into a death match every year. I think that's a pretty good reason, don't you?"

I gape at him for a second, unable to find the words to respond, and my fingers fiddle with a candy wrapper for a moment.

"Well," I start, and Fray's eyes narrow. "I definitely agree with you about that, but surely killing off the entire Capitol makes you just as bad as…?"

I trail off at the look he gives me.

"No one could be as bad as the Capitol. It'd make us even."

"It really wouldn't. I mean, I'm certainly not taking their side; I hate them as much as the next Nine citizen, but not _everyone_ in the Capitol can be gung ho about the games, right?"

"How do you know?"

"Because people don't work that way. Like you said, it's a dictatorship, so opinions that go against the president are crushed before they can rise against the system."

I have to admit, I'm quite proud of myself for getting such a profound opinion out. I certainly wouldn't call myself smart, but that sounded pretty damn clever, in my mind. Fray doesn't seem to agree.

"I don't care if it got me killed; I wouldn't let this go on."

I decide it's not worth arguing anymore; he could – and probably would – snap my neck, and so I take my bowl of candy and myself elsewhere.

Fray strikes me as a little hypocritical, to be honest. He sits on his high horse and calls the Capitol evil and all, but I don't see him doing anything about it; he seems to be going along with the Games, and he's training with vigour.

Me? I just want to get out alive, and I'm willing to put aside my feelings towards the Capitol to get back home.

It's been hard refusing allies, because so many kids here seem genuinely nice, even _if_ they seem a little crazy, and I know having allies will mean protection, but I'll just have to kill them later and I'm scared of making ties with people who will inevitably die within the next few days. Yes, I'm scared of being alone in the arena as well, terrified, actually, but I know not to take stupid risks and making allies is certainly one of them. Besides, they could easily double cross me by slitting my throat and taking my stuff, and if anyone has to do that, I'd rather it was me.

My stomach suddenly makes an icky, gurgling, sound, but I figure I can take a few more brightly coloured candies, and pop three in my mouth at once. I can barely close my mouth around them, and I pray that I don't trip; otherwise I might just forfeit The Hunger Games. And we wouldn't want that, would we?

No, Zara, we wouldn't.

I snort a little, almost choking on a piece of candy, and I begin chewing as I open the door to my room.

* * *

Sonoma knocks on the door while I'm searching for pyjamas. I'm torn between lime green and purple silk. Decisions, decisions.

"Come in," I call, and Sonoma shuffles into the room, her arms tightly folded.

"I've decided we really need to sit down… and talk; work out your strategy properly before the last day of training. It'll help."

_Wow, you actually care now?_ I think, darkly, but all that comes out is "ok."

The candy bowl is three-quarters empty, and Sonoma casts it an exasperated look, but just shakes her head.

"I know, I know, my stomach is a bottomless pit."

Sonoma actually cracks a slight smile, and then she sits, neatly poised as always, on a chair, beckoning me over.

"So…"

"So."

"Hmm."

Silence. Clearly neither of us knows how to have a conversation.

"Uh… Strategy. You're pretty set on not allying, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it could certainly come to your advantage, but you're making yourself more vulnerable."

"Yeah, that's the kink in the plan," I admit, and Sonoma rubs her chin for a moment.

"Hmm…" a final chin stroke, and then she seems to come to some kind of conclusion. "How are your pickpocketing skills?"


	17. Malak: Pretend

***kicks down door* GUESS WHO'S BAAAAAACK? I swear from the bottom of my heart that I did not intend for this break to be… *checks watch* _six/seven months._ I am genuinely so sorry. Any of you guys still here? (Wouldn't exactly blame you if you abandoned ship.) Great, let's get this show back on the road. Whooooooooo!**

* * *

**Malak Salvan, District Seven, 16.**

The plant identification station seems to have become Miss Antisocial's tryouts; it's just me, Hanna from District Five and Hypatia from District Three, and they're both failing spectacularly at telling nightlock and blueberries apart.

"So," Hypatia pipes up, breaking the awkward silence, her eyes not leaving her pile of berries, "one day closer to child murder games, huh?"

I almost leave right there and then – and I've already contemplated doing it several times – it's hard enough to block the nagging dread with a bunch of bloodthirsty teenagers swinging big, pointy things around without her reminding me.

Hanna makes a noise that resembles a snort, and Hypatia gives a sarcastic gasp.

"I never knew you could laugh; you just complain all the time."

Hanna shoots her a resigned, _don't-you-know-it?_ look before going back to her work. Hypatia's really grating on my nerves at the moment, and I don't usually find people annoying, it's just she's so… sharp. And mean to Hanna. Actually, I think she's just mean to everyone.

We sit in silence for a while longer, Hypatia muttering curses under her breath as she struggles and Hanna looking closer and closer to some kind of meltdown with each mistake she makes.

"We should try something else," Hypatia finally states, her voice irritable, and she stands. Berries go rolling in all directions, and she crushes one beneath her boot.

"_We_?" Hanna asks, trying – and failing – to raise her eyebrow.

"Well…" Hypatia fumbles for a moment, "I kinda figured… you'd… I…"

"We're coming," I say as I stand, and my voice is quiet, trying to stop the situation from becoming awkward. Hypatia blushes slightly, embarrassed, but only for a second before the flat smirk replaces it, and any kind of vulnerability seals itself back up.

"She speaks."

I refrain from recoiling from her cold eyes. _And you're back, then,_ I think, and Hypatia barely looks at the other stations before rushing off to the electronics. I guess it makes sense that she'd be good at it – she's from Three, after all – but I really don't see why we'd need it in the arena.

Hypatia has already started assembling a radio when we arrive, and she's smirking again as she tinkers away with countless little bits and pieces. The glint in her eyes reminds me a little of a mad scientist, and I realise that I've never seen her so animated before, she actually looks like she's enjoying herself, but it may just be the light reflecting off of her glasses causing her to look _happy._

"I made tons of these back in Three," Hypatia brags, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrates, "kept the ol' brain busy."

Hanna seems to have already ruined her mechanism, and I nervously pick through the parts laid out before us. I've never seen half of these things before, and the most complex thing I've ever done with a spanner was tighten some nuts on a tire. I don't know how to assemble a radio.

I think Hypatia's reciting science laws under her breath, and Hanna and I exchange a look. I need to do something active; I'll go stir crazy sitting here and making an ass of myself trying to do science-y stuff. Science has always been one of my weakest subjects.

"Hey, I'm just… gonna go run for a bit." I don't say 'see you later' because I don't know if I will. Hanna seems a little hopeless and Hypatia doesn't seem to really want either of us there. She doesn't even look up from her work as I walk away, although Hanna gives me a slightly forlorn smile and wave.

The running track is empty as I start a jog, and I'm thankful for the quiet. Hanna and Hypatia were usually silent, which was nice, but out on the track I'm left completely alone with my thoughts.

I turn the first corner of the track, and I'm suddenly faced by the boy from Six – Salem, who glowers at me from a shadowy corner. I haven't seen him actually train this entire time, he just sits and glowers at people, particularly me, and my skin prickles as I pick up my pace, just so I don't have to look at him. He gives me the serious creeps, and I get the feeling he won't suddenly back off in the arena, which is more than a little worrying for me.

I know, to many people, I appear tough. People tend to avoid me, although that may just be because I'm quiet, and I know that they go out of their way not to do anything that may 'set me off'. I'm not sure where the impression came from, but apparently I'm intimidating.

If only all those people could see me _now._

My mentor – Maeve – said I should work with people's assumptions about me, that I should let them believe that I'm a lean, mean, muscle machine, swinging an axe with a ferocious grin on my face and ready to kill at the drop of a hat. Don't let them see that I'm really a _coward. Quiet and meek and scared of killing people. Coward, coward, coward._

_Not a coward_ I hear my father's voice say _a peacemaker._

Being a peacemaker sure isn't gonna help me in the games. I can pretend, just until I get into the arena, and then I can do what I do best: run like the wind. I don't know what I'll do if I actually have to fight anyone, but I'll get to that when I get to it. First: show everyone I know my way around an axe.

I can practically hear Maeve approving as I try my best to saunter to the axe station. The instructor sees the number Seven pinned to my shirt, and her entire face seems to light up in delight. She's different from the man who was running the station yesterday – who looked like a twelve year old and hardly like someone who should be teaching people how to use something like an _axe._ No, the new instructor looks positively bloodthirsty, and very, _very_ happy to see me. I saw the Eight, Ten and Eleven girls here earlier, and – although they gave it a valiant go – only Astrid seemed to be able to hit a target at all.

The instructor hands me a large axe, saying that she expects I already know how to handle one. I nod, and her smile grows to a predatory level. She must've had some kind of alteration done to her face, because no one's smile should spread that _wide_. I can see all of her teeth, some of which are gold, and the edges of her lips curve unnaturally far upwards. If scary was the look she was going for, then she got it pretty spot on.

Her voice sounds like a purr as she shows me how to throw an axe, because – despite my many years of cutting trees down – being a lumberjack never required me being able to throw axes around like a circus performer. Her axe meets its mark perfectly, making a loud thud as it embeds itself in the dummy. I see that it's buried itself right between where a real person's ribs would be.

I try to cast the idea of actually sending an axe through someone's chest out of my mind. _Be brave, Malak._

I take a shot at just getting the technique right without actually throwing the axe. It's lighter than any of the ones back home, and the instructor explains how the Capitol managed to design an axe so even a toddler could lift it. The science-y parts all goes way over my head, and I nod politely as I practice swinging it around. When I'm just holding or swinging it, it feels wonderfully natural in my hands, but then she gives me a dummy to throw the axe at, and suddenly it feels foreign and deadly, like it might explode if I hold it wrong. I stare at it in my hands, wondering how it became so unwelcoming in a split second, and the razor sharp axe grins at me, catlike and menacing, similar the woman by my side.

_Be brave, Malak. It's just a dummy. You've kept it together this long, you can do it now. Just breathe. _

I do. I inhale slowly through my nose, lifting the axe. My eyes fix on the spot that I'm aiming for, and I tighten my grip as I bring my arm slightly further back. I exhale as I let the axe go. It seems to hiss as it cuts through the air, and there's a dull _thud _as it makes it mark.

"A little off centre," the instructor muses, examining my work, "but, aside from that, very good, Seven."

I know I've caught some people's attention, particularly Hanna and Hypatia, who stare in awe from the electronics station, and they look from the axe to me before hurriedly going back to their business. Even the careers look over from their arguing to look before going back to showing off to each other.

I retrieve the axe from the dummy with a sharp yank, not thinking about the idea of the blood that would seep from this wound, and the instructor smiles gleefully.

"Shall we go again?"

* * *

Lagan and Zeak are bickering again. I always took my district partner as a bit of a pushover – sweet and considerate, but a pushover – however I can hear him arguing with his mentor in his room. I find myself listening in, despite feeling like I'm breeching his privacy, but a voice, small, cold and calculating whispers "it may be useful."

So I sit completely still, holding my breath as the voices begin rising.

"Do you not watch the games? Tributes like him-"

"I can handle it, besides, he seems perfectly-"

"He's just trying to win you over-"

"He listens to me, unlike-"

"My point, exactly!"

Lagans voice is so loud so suddenly that I flinch, and I let out the breath I was holding in a gasp. My lungs ache as the voices become too quiet to hear, and then a door is slammed, and I hear Lagan grumbling to himself as he stalks past my door.

I know exactly who they're talking about. The Eight boy – Madras – who Zeak seems to have allied with. He sauntered over to me on the first day and followed me around, dropping awful comments and critisisng everything I did until I finally turned and said – embarrassingly quietly and without much force – for him to shut up and go away. He'd just smirked triumphantly, like he expected it, and sauntered off without another word. I don't know what's up with him, but I know he's nothing but trouble. I tend to try and avoid people like him, but, here, they seem to find me.

But, now, with a day of axe training under my belt – which I proved to be very good at – I feel a little less afraid of them. I know it's not much, but it turns out I'm awfully good at pretending.


End file.
